


maybe it's not just down to you

by ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Dates, Detective Ryan Bergara, Ex-Murderer Shane Madej, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Fresh Start, Humor, I cannot stress the pining enough, Lists, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mentions of Blood, Mild Internalized Homophobia, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Movie References, Off-Screen Murder Occurences, POV First Person, Pining, References to Drugs, Rejection, Self-Betterment, Shane Madej Is So Whipped, Shawshank Redemption References, Supportive Relationship, The Talented Mr. Ripley References, The definition of angsty, Unreliable Narrator, Violence Isn't The Main Character, We're goin first person again babey, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, also there's a dog, but happy ending, mostly googling personal information, no beta we die like fools, sweet baby, vague stalker tendencies, vague violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 96,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23922817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: “You’ll solve this one,” I say. I don’t mean that. “I know you will.”“Thanks, Shane.” Ryan smiles.[Shane tries to start over after a rocky few months. Ryan seems to enjoy his company, they get on nicely. But it’s hard dating a detective who’s fascinated with the string of murders you’ve committed, even though you don't... uh, "do" that anymore.]
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 376
Kudos: 319





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go with another whale of a tale. here's the obligatory long-ass note where i voice all my fears and aspirations. 
> 
> a couple things: 
> 
> 1) i said i'd write happy stuff for a month. that lasted longer than i expected. this story should be happy for a majority of the time. but we're back in murdertown babeyyyy. welcome. 
> 
> 2) we're going first person again! but this time it's shane! and he's a murderer, but he wants to be better!!!!!! i'm so excited. 
> 
> 3) i'm really excited for you guys to read this version of the boys. i wasn't entirely sold on this shane at first, but i think he's come into his own over the chapters that i've written
> 
> 4, finally) i have six chapters already written and a seventh one i'm working on as i post this. i think i'll be posting based on how much interaction this gets - i don't think i'll do daily posts unless there's a demand for it, which i doubt. (also, hopefully there will be some conjecture in the comments like my last murder story because uhhhhh i like to take that into consideration for later chapters and you all have really good ideas and i love you)
> 
> anyways. let's jump into this.

_“There are fears that a serial killer is on the loose in San Francisco. Police are warning people not to walk alone at night in the Foster City area. That’s after the third person in twenty days was shot to death on Thursday night. And, as our own Lee Franklin reports, while the victims did not appear to know one another, police seem certain that their murders are all connected.”_

They’re connected, alright.

_“More on this story, Lee Franklin – what are you hearing, Lee?”_

_“Well, frightened residents did what they could to reclaim the streets of Foster City this Friday night, a day after twenty-year-old Max Malvo was found shot to death in the woods behind his former residence. He had just gotten off the wrong bus home from work when he was shot.”_

Right, yeah, he got off the wrong bus. They always say that, you know. Seems like too much of a coincidence, right? I mean, statistically, how many people get off the wrong bus? Much to think about.

_“Police did not hear the shots that killed Malvo despite there being extra patrols in the area after two other murders had occurred. Malvo was murdered just five blocks away from where Aaron McHargue was killed one week prior, and one mile away from where Felix Bay was found. He was found five days earlier. Foster City police say they have no leads and can’t determine a motive.”_

Good.

Their dates are a bit wrong, but hey, what can you do?

_“On Monday, they released surveillance footage of a person walking in the area when the first murder happened. The only thing they seem certain of is that the murders are not coincidence.”_

Bingo.

_“A supposed witness – “_

… A witness?

_“- has come forward, offering a description of the shooter to a sketch artist – “_

Oh, I gotta see this.

_“ – resulting in this sketch.”_

I can’t help but laugh. They’ll never get my face right. Too many weird angles. Whatever. That’s enough of the tube for today. I’m getting ahead of myself. Lucy’s probably hungry.

[Lucy is a Great Pyrenees. She’s mixed with something, but I don’t know. I don’t know dogs. I’m not a dog person; you could know that just by looking at me, I bet. Dogs are just… they’re approachable. If you’re walking down the street and you’re tall and off-putting like I am, and if you’re moving away to hypothetically make connections and throw some anonymous shadow-people off your trail as they seek to track you for your past mistakes, having a dog is very good. And, by all accounts, Lucy is very intelligent. If she weren’t half my size and… uh, a dog, I’d say she was a cat. She’s too drool-y to be a cat. I love her, though. Or, I’m beginning to love her.]

Anyway, I’m officially a Californian! Well, I have been for a few months. But I’ve moved from sunny Foster City to sunnier Santa Monica, and I’m starting over. I’ve been saving up for a wonderful house here, close to the beach but not too close that a tidal wave or rowdy hurricane will lay ruin to all my worldly possessions. I took a cheap apartment for my Foster City stay, but no longer will I live a life short of luxury. Like I said, I’ve moved on and I’ve never been happier. Living large. No regrets. Maybe a few.

Every morning for the past week, I’ve: woken up, watched the news, fed Lucy, and taken her for a walk around the neighborhood. After that, who knows? My official agenda stops there. Maybe I’ll go downtown, try to get a job. Maybe I’ll try and bond with Lucy further than just giving her a nod every now and then. It’s all in the air.

Lucy likes to sniff the mailboxes as we walk. Every. Single. One. That’s fine, she’s… curious. Kinda like a cat, I guess. (I’m pretending she’s curious so that I don’t have to come to terms with the fact that she’s _fascinated_ with the smell of other dogs’ piss.) I usually try and tug her along, trying to keep going – still not accustomed to the heat of the sun, an Illinois boy at heart – but there’s this one house I’ll let her stall at. We’re almost there, actually.

The house with the blue shutters. I’ve actually encouraged her to linger at this one house for the past week in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, one day –

“Hey, neighbor!”

I’m so glad I actually dressed up today. I nearly thought today would be like all the other days, empty and pointless, and wore something less put-together. I glance over to the porch, where he stands.

“Hey, there!” I do my best suburb wave. He steps down onto the concrete walkway, walking toward me. “Sorry about my Lucy, she seems to love your mailbox.”

“So do all the other dogs. It’s a real hotspot.” He smiles. His teeth are impossibly white, way whiter than they seem in all the pictures I’ve seen. He has his hands on his hips. I keep my eyes on his face, though I want to explore a bit more at some point. Hopefully this interaction goes well so I can. “I haven’t seen you around. I’m Ryan.”

 _I know!_ “Yeah, I just moved in this week.” I don’t put my hand out. I’ll wait for him to do that. I reach down and give Lucy a pat. “Nice to meet you, Ryan. I’m Shane.”

He extends his hand. I look at it for a second like _oh, for me?_ and take it. “It’s really embarrassing that I didn’t notice a new neighbor. I’m supposed to be good at that.”

“I’m just a block down, too,” I throw a thumb in the wrong direction. “But I didn’t have much to move, so it was pretty quick. Sorry it’s taken so long to get acquainted. This is my first, uh, suburb experience. Not sure about the customs.”

Ryan (Ryan Bergara, twenty-nine years old, current detective for the Santa Monica Police Department) looks in the direction that I pointed. He sweeps his view across the neat row of houses behind me.

“Well, to be honest,” he leans closer, I can smell his cologne, “there isn’t a close-knit neighborhood vibe, here. I wish there were but… you know. Can’t pick your neighbors.”

“Hm,” I hum like I’m disappointed. “A shame.” I only wanted to talk to one person, and I’ve done so incredibly quickly. What am I gonna do with all my free time?

“Right!” Apparently he liked that answer. He smiles again. Lucy has forgotten about the mailbox and is now moseying her way toward Ryan, who seems delighted. He kneels down next to her before looking up at me, “Can I pet her?”

“I think, if you don’t, she’ll die.” I attempt a wink. I’ve never winked at someone before. Ryan doesn’t seem perturbed. Lucy lays down and rolls onto her back, asking for a belly rub. Ryan is more than happy to oblige.

“She’s a big lady,” Ryan says, raking his fingers through her fur. He looks at her collar. “Nice name, Lucy. What breed is she?”

“Great Pyrenees and, uh… something else.” I squint, “Some sort of Shepherd?” That seems like something that makes sense to say.

Ryan nods, “I can see it.”

I’m nailing this first interaction. I can feel the smile on my face, it feels too genuinely overjoyed to be meeting a neighbor. Should I be downplaying this? Should I be acting annoyed? It’s too late now. I get the feeling I’ve started something I can’t stop.

“Don’t know. I’m not much of a dog person, but this big gal…” _Seemed to be a good alibi._ “…really spoke to me.”

Ryan laughs. Lucy rolls back over and sits in front of him, both of them the same height when he’s squatted down like this. He frames her face with his hands, considering her. “She’s… she’s kinda got human eyes, man.”

“Yeah, right!” I noticed this last night. And eyebrows. “And her fur above her eyes kinda looks like eyebrows, doesn’t it?”

“You know – you know what, it does!” He laughs again, almost manic. He falls back to sit. Lucy follows, licking his cheek. “Wow. She’s really sweet, Shane.”

“Thanks. Raised her right, I guess.” I overexaggerate a shrug. It’s a shot in the dark, but Ryan laughs pretty hard at it. This is going better than I expected. Am I dreaming? “Anyways. Sorry to uproot your day.”

“No uprooting took place!” Ryan pushes himself to stand. Lucy whines. “I uprooted _your_ life, actually. You probably have places to be.”

I almost laugh. “Not yet! The rest of my day is a mystery. After this walk, who knows! I may go to the moon.”

He chuckles. It’s an awkward one. Sorry.

“Well, we’ll have to talk again soon. I don’t want to eat up all your Lucy time.” He smiles and brushes his hands on the front of his jeans. I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to talk anymore or if he thinks _I_ don’t want to talk anymore. He looks over in the direction I pointed earlier, still not a correct glance toward where I actually live, “You and your wife can come over for dinner sometime if you’d like. I’d love some company, there aren’t many conversationalists around here.”

He thinks I’m married! Now I get to do this weird shuffle thing with him.

“I’m not married, actually! That’s actually why I got Lucy, for company.” I hold up my ringless hand for proof. Ryan’s shoulders round out. I don’t know what that means. “But I’d be glad to bring her over sometime to meet you and yours.” I know he isn’t married. I’ve already looked.

“Not married either! And I’m sorry to have assumed.” He rubs the back of his neck, his watch glistens in the California sun. “It’s all elderly couples around here. Just force of habit, I guess.”

“No worries at all. I’m flattered, really,” I run my free hand through my hair, “Glad I give off some happily-taken energy.”

Ryan laughs at that but says nothing else. He gives Lucy another head-ruffle of a pet.

“I’ll keep in touch,” I finally say with a final nod. I don’t want to seem too desperate. I want him to think I don’t really care that we have to go. I tug the leash gently. “C’mon, Luce.”

I give him a wave and an odd _thanks for your time_ before I head off, walking down the sidewalk. I glance back after a few minutes, a considerable way down the road, to find him still standing where I left him.

He jumps when I see him, jogging back inside.

Nailed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm basing lucy off of my dog olive. here are some pictures of her. 
> 
> https://imgur.com/gallery/ney92aF


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a little expository bit - gearing up for the rest. 
> 
> i think i'll post chapter 3 today as well, just to get back into the shane and ryan awkwardness <3

So. I’ve thought about it, and I think I’d like to spend the rest of my life with Ryan.

I don’t know why I thought it would be so easy for me to just befriend him for a cover of some sort. It’s almost like I forgot how touch starved and lonely I am, and what a specifically odd time to do so. As soon as I saw that smile, I was a goner. Figures. He’s not as charming on the newsreels I’ve seen so I was _completely_ blindsided. I hope he doesn’t think I’m an idiot. Actually – I hope he thinks I’m an idiot.

For the past few hours, I’ve been sitting on my bed and trying to convince myself that I don’t have a huge, stupid crush on this complete stranger. Well, not complete. And I’m more of a stranger to him than he is to me. But the point still stands.

I have made up my mind. I’d rather court Ryan than fall back into old habits and, y’know, I think this could be a good project as I try and reform myself. I’m taking this very seriously. So, I’ve made a tentative list of hurdles I need to climb in order to get closer to him. (I’m a sucker for a list.) They are as such:

  1. > He has to tell me his last name without asking for it – that would be too suspicious.

  2. > I need him to tell me his occupation himself. It’s not hard to find out with a little digging, but he needs to feel like he’s in control.

  3. > I need to be invited to his house again – I can’t invite myself. That would be leading. I don’t want to trick him into liking me. The same with his office – invite only.

  4. > I need to get a job. A normal job. A boring job. Preferably near Ryan’s office building.

  5. > He can’t ever know about my… Foster City experience. Or, at least, he can’t know it was me. That’s very important. It’s either Ryan or murder, and by making this list, I’m choosing Ryan. Just in case that’s not been made clear.




Lucy has been staring at me with those soulful, human eyes, her head propped up on her paws. I wonder if we’re close enough to the point where she can feel what vibes I’m putting out. Does she know I’m yearning? Is her emotion radar that intelligent? Probably.

I don’t know when I’m going to see Ryan again. I roll onto my stomach, kicking my feet. I offer a hand toward where Lucy lays on the ground beside my bed. She rests her soft chin in my hand.

“I wish you could talk,” I say, and her ears perk up at the sound. “I feel like you have better ideas than me.”

She makes a little noise. I think that’s agreement.

There’s not much I can do _now._ At least, not regarding the Ryan Objectives, which I have named my list of hurdles. I think it makes it sound much more official than it actually is, makes it more fun. I think I’d like some fun now. I think I’ve earned it.

It is taking every fiber of strength that I have not to look further into Ryan’s life right now. All I want to do is make a bunch of dating accounts and find him there, or watch more of his local news interviews and see what he responds to in the conversation. How he responds. What he finds funny. There is nothing I want more than to become exactly the kind of person he’d fall in love with. But I’ve done my share of arguably immoral things, and it’s time for a change.

So I start working on some social media accounts. For myself. And it’s really hard.

Instagram was easy enough. It’s just an email and a name and a promise to post a photo or two in the future. I don’t bother with a profile picture. I don’t have any pictures of myself, save for some old college photos. That was a different time, for sure. I used to cut my own hair – now I don’t cut it at all. I mean, there are other changes, but I don’t want to think about that right now. 

That was easy. Yet I think I’ve sat here staring at my blank Facebook page and panicking for at least another hour. I’m trying to get my life together in the span of one day which is a tall order to give myself. Instagram’s just pictures, maybe a caption if you’re feeling like it. Facebook rips your life apart for others to pick through. Relationship status, current employment, your interests, the people you connect with. I don’t have any of these, yet. I can’t wait to have them, though, believe me. I can’t wait to start filling in the gaps of my life. I can’t wait to be Shane in Santa Monica, not… uh, Anonymous Foster City Killer.

I need pictures, for a start. Of me. Fuck.

“Alright, Lucy,” I close my laptop and grab for my phone. “I’m gonna need your help for this.”

When I chose this place with a pool, I didn’t really know what I’d do with it. I figured it would help with appearances, despite being nearly obscured by the house. But from what I know about the internet, which is… a narrow margin, people love pools. I’ll use that to my advantage, here.

It’s awkward, taking pictures of yourself and your dog. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to do this, but the way my dignity left my body as soon as I propped my phone up on the back door and hit the ten-second timer is indescribable. I’ve done a lot worse than this, but it’s incredibly embarrassing.

After about five trips to the phone and back, I have the bright idea to start a video. I can just grab some screencaps later.

“C’mere, Lucy,” I sit in the grassy section of the backyard, just in front of the camera, crossing my legs into a basket. I pat the grass in front of me and she starts bounding over toward me from her place in the sun, paws skidding to stop herself before she crashes into me. She collapses in my lap, sprawling out.

I don’t know how to pose for pictures, so I don’t. I figure there must be a frame or two within the video that will be worth posting. Still not sure. But Lucy continues to paw at my face, looking up at me with her wide (vaguely human, thanks Ryan) eyes, her mouth open in what… I think… is a smile? Do dogs smile? Is her mouth just open? I can’t tell. Looks like a smile. It’s cute.

I give up after five minutes, much to Lucy’s chagrin, and pull my shirt over my head. I kick my shoes off and pile my jeans on top of them. Pool photos, I guess. They’re… whimsical, right? I guess, at this point, I’m just worried it’ll be clear that I’m taking these pictures myself. Is that sad? Probably. I’m overthinking this. I wish I was close enough with Ryan to ask him to help, but the whole reason why I’m _doing_ this is to have him possibly stumble across my profile as soon as I input my location on this stupid account.

I lean my phone against one of the two lounge chairs I own. I’m only doing this once. I’m already embarrassing myself. I want to take one (1) picture of myself in the pool and then I’m going to swim the self-respect back into my body.

The photo ends up good. I hook my elbows over the side, the concrete gritty against my skin. To make it seem like I’m not alone, I look off camera at Lucy as though she’s telling me all the secrets I’ve ever wanted to know. And then I’m done.

I let my phone go to sleep under the shade of the lounge chair, and I float around for an hour or so as Lucy stares at me from the land.

She hasn’t gotten brave enough to jump. I don’t even know how I’d dry her off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for reading!!! i really appreciate you guys taking the time on these weird things i write. i love u


	3. Chapter 3

This morning, instead of my usual news-watching extravaganza, I had to go into a five-am interview to work at the coffee shop (right by Ryan’s office, of course).

I looked around for a normal, boring job for a while – accounting, or something. But turns out, my limited experience in production and technology that I barely remember from college won’t cut it, anymore. I ended up spotting the hiring signs around town for a café. Besides, I was a bartender in Foster City. I guess I’m just a makin’ drinks kinda guy. Food service is my calling.

Anyway, I think the shift manager likes me. She seemed to decide I was going to work there before I even gave her my resume. I can’t remember if I was flirting or not. I don’t think I was. She gave me half of my training today before they opened, showed me the machines and their functions. I think tomorrow I come in early again and she gives me the rest – the menus and the pamphlets about working there and behavior and blah, blah.

A coffee shop job. Normal, boring. Cliché, but it’ll work. Ryan Objective Four: complete! I’m doing great with the objectives. It’s been a week since I made my list and I’m already one-fifth of the way done. I may be losing my mind and thinking about Ryan constantly – but, on the bright side, I’m putting that energy to use. And I haven’t taken a life in two weeks! So. I’m doing pretty good.

Ryan is standing on the front porch when I pull into the driveway.

This… I had not expected.

I feel a knot form in my stomach at the sight – what’s he doing here? Did I do something wrong? He can’t have found me out this quick, right? I’ve been doing all the right things. I’ve been doing my best. It can’t be over, now.

I close the car door with my hip, struggling to form a smile. I know my face probably looks odd – a mix of confusion and terror. I can feel it. The _confused and terrified_ muscles of my face are particularly strained. I can identify those.

“Hey, stranger,” I say. I squint, the sun over Ryan’s shoulder. I use my hand to create a makeshift visor on my forehead, trying to protect my eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He holds up a small brown box, his mouth stretched into a nervous smile. That’s good. “Housewarming gift.”

“Ah,” I feel my face relax. “That’s… that’s really nice, Ryan, thank you.” This moment is coming at me in waves.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” He clears his throat, “Sorry, I just kinda… you weren’t home, so I didn’t know if I should leave these, or…”

“Well, I’m here now. But you don’t need to rush off or anything,” I wave a hand. “We can go around back.” He looks hesitant. Tables have turned, and such. “I haven’t walked Lucy today, so I need to let her out so she can prance.”

“I don’t wanna intrude – “

“There’s nothing I’d rather do right now than talk to you.” That was a little desperate, Shane, roll it back. “Uh, I was at a job interview all morning, but I’m glad I didn’t miss you.”

He steps off the porch and follows me through the car port, still wearing a nervous expression. I take the box as he offers it. My heart is still beating out of my chest – that was a close one. And there’s something else. There’s something I’m forgetting, I just don’t know what it is.

“I would have probably come back later,” he smiles at me as I open the back gate for him, attempting a humorous curtsy and giving up halfway through. As he steps in front of me, he stops in his tracks. “You have a pool.”

“Mhm,” I say, not sure what else I’d respond with. This is going well for me. I lift the box. “What’s this, by the way? Should I open it in secret?” Just a little joke, for ya. Very appropriate.

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “It’s just some brownies. I was bored last night and I figured, _hey, everybody loved brownies_.” He runs a hand through his hair. I think I might faint. Does he know that he does this to me? He must.

“You made me _brownies!_ ” I sound a little shrill. I think I might be dreaming, again. I thought I’d have to walk Lucy around the block a few times before I’d see him again. But he came to _me._ He found me _first_. “Wow, thank you, Ryan. I’m elated. If I had any skills in the kitchen whatsoever, I’d return the favor.”

“Don’t even think about it.” He gives me a look, pointing at me. It’s faux stern. I love him. “Consider it a way of my trying to convince you to… uh, not move.”

“Consider me convinced.” I smile, though I try to keep it somewhat lukewarm. “Thanks again, Ryan.”

His eyes keep straying toward the pool. He must not have one. I assumed he did have one, with all the extra funding going to the station. Maybe not.

The box clatters against the glass as I place it on the table on the back porch. I want to eat these as soon as possible, but I’ll probably wait until Ryan leaves. “Time to let her out, I guess.”

While at the café, all I could think about was coming home and letting Lucy out. I don’t know why. I’d never tell her that I thought about her today. I can’t afford for her to be intelligent _and_ egotistical.

As soon as I pull the door open, Lucy sprints out of the house, circling the perimeter of the yard once before coming back and knocking me down. I make a grunt in the back of my throat that Ryan finds incredibly funny, doubling over and almost falling down.

“She’s never done that before,” I say, pressing my lips closed as she licks my face.

“Well, you did say you were gone all morning.” He studies us like we’re a case of his. And we’re not, yet. Fascinating. What is he trying to solve? “Maybe she missed you.”

“Huh,” I push myself to sit. She’s laying on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wheeze out a soft, “Maybe.”

Lucy realizes Ryan is here and completely forgets about me, stumbling off of me and jumping up on him. She pants, pawing at him until he bends slightly to pet her. I smile at the both of them, and suddenly I realize what I was missing.

I look at him. I look over at the box on the table. I look at where we are. I know what I was forgetting.

“How… how’d you figure out where I lived?” My attention focuses in on him. He has his hands on his hips, looking at me with wide eyes as I stand.

“Uh,” he shifts on his feet. “Well. I work for the police department. Which… is probably creepy, I’m sorry.”

Holy shit. He went to his workplace and _looked up where I live_ so that he could bring me brownies. Holy shit. _And_ Ryan Objective Two is complete. This is like Christmas.

“No, that’s… pretty nice, actually,” I say. My heart is beating incredibly fast. Am I reading too far into this? I can’t be, right? “Very sweet. Thanks.”

He gives me a closed-lip smile, looking back to the pool. “This is fantastic, man. How’d you score this place?”

“Entirely by luck,” I say, because that’s the case. I’ve been monitoring Ryan’s neighborhood for a long time – people come and go often, but this house had a low rate and a quick move in. “It’s pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t look away from the water. “How do you keep it so clean?” He glances back to me, “Sorry I keep focusing on the pool. I’m just incredibly jealous.”

“Feel free to use it,” I say, which I tell myself isn’t leading him in any way. I never said anything about inviting him over _here._ I’m bending my own rules and I feel like a god. “And I have no clue. Not too much debris, I guess, around here. I hope it stays that way. Pool cleaning is fucking annoying.”

Ryan pauses, noticeably. A full-body stop.

"What?" I try and remember what I just said. Did I fuck it up? I only said… oh. "What, are you not... you don't like swearing?"

"What? No, I mean. It's fine, I guess I just... didn't expect it from you." He smiles. I don't really understand why he wouldn't peg me for a good swearer, but... I suppose, he doesn't know a lot about me. "Didn't think you were the vulgar type."

I stare at him for a moment before looking down at myself. In attempting to blend in with the suburban lifestyle, I may have adopted a vanilla wardrobe. It's a purple floral shirt, tucked in. Of course he thought I wasn't vulgar. I look like a Spongebob character. “Vulgar,” I say quietly, laughing at the word.

“I almost thought I knew what kind of person you were. I’m usually pretty good at that,” he says, squinting at me. It's mostly in jest, but it's intimidating nonetheless. "What else don't I know about you?"

"Hm," I tap my foot. Nothing is coming to mind. I know it’s a joke, but I need to take this opportunity to try and be normal. "Well. My birthday's in May."

That didn't seem to be the answer that Ryan was looking for, but he accepts it. "Huh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn’t beta’d. i’ve got no betas. i’m betaless


	4. Chapter 4

Lucy is laying on my lap as I stare at my blank Facebook page, her head in my lap and her paws digging into my legs.

I know I can fill out my education. I don’t know if I should put my occupation since it’s so new – does it even count, if I’m not even allowed to touch the register? I’ll put it anyway. I’ll put my birthday, even though it’s private, just to feel like I’ve done something here. I can’t look at the Relationships category without feeling a deep agony.

I stare at the bubble that keeps popping up, telling me how to add friends. I _know_ how to add friends – I just don’t have any.

A voice in the back of my head says I could friend my parents. They’re the obvious option. But I haven’t spoken to them in years. And my mom… well, my mom has always had that sixth-mom-sense, you know? I worry that if I were to try and talk to her now, she’d see through me. She’d see the things I’ve done or the blood under my fingernails that isn’t really there at all. I don’t want that to be the case.

Maybe, if all of this works out and I end up being very happy with Ryan and stuff, I’ll call her.

Lucy hops off of my lap, her claws nearly piercing holes in my skin through my sweatpants, and moseys over to sit in front of the door. I blink, placing my phone face down on the couch beside me.

“What?” I ask her. Her ears perk up but she doesn’t acknowledge me in any way. “What’s up?”

I move to stand. She’s never done this before. Does she need to go out? She usually noses at the back doorknob if she has to go. But she’s not doing anything, just sitting at attention in front of the door. Is this an omen? Is a storm coming or something?

As I stand up, looking out the window, I see a car pull into the driveway. I cross over to the front door, looking down at Lucy.

“How do you do that?” I whisper. I’m a little worried. “What are you?”

The car looks familiar. I look through the blinds as the door opens and… Ryan’s head pops out.

“Holy shit,” I say to Lucy. “What, could you sniff him or something?”

She doesn’t say anything. We watch him stumble up to the front porch. I wait until he reaches to knock before grabbing the handle.

When I open the door, Ryan’s smile falters. I wonder why and then, after a few seconds, I realize I probably look like a mess. I haven’t showered today. I’m wearing sweatpants. He’s probably not seen me this way yet. It must be terrible to look at. Fuck.

“Sorry,” I hear myself say. “I wasn’t, uh, expecting you.”

“No, it’s…” he licks his lips. I don’t know what that means. “Is it weird that I thought… well. I kinda just thought you were constantly wearing jeans and a dress shirt.”

I raise my eyebrows. He thinks about me. “Even to sleep in?”

Ryan shifts his weight between his feet, “Even to sleep in.”

Why is he nervous? Is he just always like this? I don’t understand. Am I projecting? I’m probably projecting. I laugh, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m wearing my old Columbia College t-shirt, I realize after glancing back down to myself, and try to mentally remember to put my hometown on Facebook as well.

“Well,” Ryan slips his hands into his pockets. “I went to the store today to get some ingredients for dinner and, wouldn’t ya know it, I bought enough for two.”

What. Is. Happening. Right. Now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes move downwards (for a moment, selfishly, I think he’s checking me out). Suddenly, I feel Lucy wedge herself between my left leg and the doorjamb, trying to get to Ryan. Ah. “Hey, Lucy!”

She wiggles in response, craning her neck to try and wordlessly ask for attention. He obliges. I don’t budge – she’s stuck between me and the door so she can’t run away. Not that I think she’d want to, but. Dogs are unpredictable, I guess.

“Anyways,” Ryan says, giving Lucy’s head a final pat. “Are you free for dinner? Like, at my house. Do you want to come for dinner? I’m making carbonara.”

He bakes _and_ cooks. Interesting. I want to go _right now_ but I look like a train wreck. “I’d love to. Uh, what time are you thinking?” I gesture to myself. “I’ll get back in uniform.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t have a time in mind.”

“How about…” I check my wrist for the time on the watch I don’t have. “It’s near dinnertime anyways. You head back and get your stuff together, I’ll metamorphize back into a presentable human and come over. Sans Lucy, of course, but she’ll get over it.”

“Okay,” Ryan nods. He doesn’t move. “Well. I’ll see you in a few, then.”

“Yeah! See you in a few.”

I wait until he turns around to start heading back to his car before I close the door. I may or may not do a little victory dance that confuses Lucy.

I wear my favorite shirt. I wear my best shoes. I hug Lucy before I go for good luck.

The dinner itself is fantastic, by the way. Ryan is perfect, so the food is perfect and he’s incredibly humble about it. We talk about absolutely nothing for an hour. I compliment him every few minutes. He asks if I want a drink and I shrug, so he gives me a glass of wine – which is very elegant and I feel honored to take it.

I keep glancing at my shoes by the front door as I help him clean up. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to ask if I should leave. Usually, when you ask if you should leave, the host says “maybe.” If they say “maybe,” you can’t say, “oh, actually, I think I’ll stay.” That’s just manners.

He grabs a dishtowel to dry his hands off after washing them. He looks so good. He’s wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I keep worrying that I’ll wake up at some point. Ryan smiles at me.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” He asks me.

I stutter. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My heart is in my stomach. I fucked it. “Oh, sorry, I – “

His eyes go wide. “Oh, _shit_ , no, I meant – “ He laughs, covering his face with his hands. “I meant, like – can you stay for a _movie_ , is what I meant.”

Oh. “Oh.” I clear my throat. It’s hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. “I mean, sure. I fed Lucy before I came over, so.” A movie?! “What movie are you thinkin’?”

Ryan shrugs. “I’ve had Shawshank Redemption in my Netflix list for, like, a year.”

“Love it.” I do love that movie. I fell asleep to it for a month. I don’t know what that says about me. “I’d love that.”

We sit pretty far apart from each other. I nearly scramble to sit down first so he can choose how much space he’d like, which is a fair margin. I don’t take it personally. I’m too focused on controlling my breathing.

 _If I Didn’t Care_ by the Ink Spots starts playing as the movie starts. I bite my thumbnail.

“I remember, uh,” I say quietly, not sure if I should be talking during the movie since I don’t know Ryan’s thoughts about that, “I remember this song used to give me such anxiety after I first watched this movie.”

Ryan chuckles, his arm hooked over the back of the couch, turning his head to face me. “It is certainly haunting, for sure.” He smiles, bringing his knees to his chest. He looks so small. Vulnerable, next to someone he barely knows. Why does he trust me? “I love this fuckin’ movie, man.”

“Me too,” I smother a smirk. “You know what my favorite line is in this movie?”

Ryan hums, looking back at the screen, lifting his beer to his mouth.

I clear my throat. I hope he knows what scene this is from. “I like, uh… _how could you be so obtuse!_ ”

Ryan almost spits everywhere, covering his mouth with his hand. He tilts his head back. I feel like I’m on top of the world.

“Oh, my _God_ ,” he wipes his mouth with his sleeve, shoulders shaking. “I fuckin’ love that line.”

“Right!” I rest my glass on my leg. “And warden’s like, _fuckin’ throw him in the slammer._ ”

“It was a pretty big overreaction,” Ryan agrees. He points at the screen, his face still a little red. “I like this part, actually. Where the judge is all like, _you strike me as an icy and remorseless man, Mr. Dufrene. I don’t like the looks of you._ ”

“And then he turns out to be innocent – ! “

“He turns out to be innocent!” Ryan slaps his leg, breaking into giggles. I want to live in this moment for the rest of my life. “He just… _roasted_ that man for no reason and gave him two life sentences!”

“Guess that judge was obtuse.”

“Guess so,” Ryan says, closing his mouth to smother the laughs. “Eh. It’s not that funny, a man was wrongfully imprisoned.”

“Yeah, but… he’s not _real_ , so.”

Ryan smiles, nodding. “He isn’t real.”

I’m still buzzing with adrenaline. I made Ryan laugh. I made Ryan laugh with a movie quote. I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does. It’s like crack. No, it’s not. I don’t know. My brain’s fuzzy.

Ryan opens his mouth to say something else, but a phone rings distantly in another room. Ryan’s head drops to his chest, shaking his head.

“Important?” I ask.

“Never off the clock,” he taps his head as if to remind himself. “I’ll be right back.” He stands, walking toward the kitchen. He stops in the doorway, looking back at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“There’s still two hours left of this movie,” I say with a smile. I wave him off. “Go on. Important.”

He does. He turns and enters the kitchen, the ringing stops. I hear his voice, still. I wonder if he cares if I can hear him.

 _“Bergara, speaking.”_ I don’t count that as him telling me his name. Objective one stays unchecked. _“Yes... Mhm… What? I was aware Foster City made contact, but I didn’t know it was to keep a fuckin’ lookout. Did they say anything else?... Uh-huh. Mhm. Okay. Right. It’s good though, right? That they haven’t had one in a while? Ah. Why’d they think he’d come here?”_

I try to lose myself in the movie, but I feel the nerves start to choke me.

_“They sent it everywhere, didn’t they? Okay. Okay. Well, I can’t come in now. I’ll be there early in the morning.”_

I can hear Ryan sigh. I can hear him shuffle a bit. I don’t know why he’d think to hide a work call from me. He doesn’t know anything about me. He doesn’t know I’m listening. Why would a normal, boring person like me be interested in his work call?

He steps back into the room. His face is pale and hollowed out.

“Uh,” I say. “Who was it?”

“Work,” he mumbles. He slips his phone into his pocket and crosses the room, picking the beer up from the coffee table as he passed it. He collapses on the couch, exhaling through his mouth. He smiles at me – he looks tired as if it’s been a month since he entered the kitchen and he’s been awake the entire time.

"Ah," I say. I rub my palms on the front of my pants. _What are you going to keep a lookout for, Ryan? They have no leads!_ "Yikes. Something wrong?"

"No, they've just got some renovations being done to the building - it's a nice place, really, my office. You'll have to come sometime. It's, uh, near Wilshire."

And just like that, Ryan Objective Three is fully complete. "Oh, wow! We work so close together. I'm actually working at Bluestone Lane, the coffee shop near there." I cross my arms over my chest. I’m trying to lift his spirit by being enthusiastic. I don’t know if it’s working. "I'll have to walk over and pay you a visit sometime."

"I'd love that," Ryan says. He smiles tiredly, knocking his shoulder against mine. I didn’t notice he sat so close this time. "What a coincidence, huh?"

No such thing as coincidences, my dear Ryan. "You couldn't be more right."

We start watching the movie again. Dufresne just got the money for the library. It takes a lot of energy to keep my eyes forward, but as the minutes crawl by, Ryan gets quieter.

Ryan’s chewing on the inside of his lip, pale in the face. I want to ask more. I want to get the details, I want to know exactly how much he knows. But that would be suspicious. Most of all, I want to make him laugh again.

“So,” I murmur. “What’s the likelihood that Red and Dufresne had a thing together?”

Fuck, Shane. That’s even _more_ suspicious. Don’t theorize about the gayness of characters, Jesus Christ.

Ryan hums. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I mean,” I shift in my seat. I don’t look at him. I can’t read his tone. “When Red first saw Andy, he practically checked him out. Called him a tall drink of water.”

“Hm,” Ryan considers this. He shrugs. “I can see it. That hug at the end is pretty spectacular, too.”

“It’s all conjecture,” I offer.

“Yeah, but I think you might be right.” Ryan nods again, a confirmation. He chuckles. “I’ve never thought about it that way, but I don’t think I’ll be able to think about it without the subtext from now on.”

I almost say _good._ But that would be weird. So I just laugh back and run a hand through my hair. I can’t shake my nerves.

What does he know, now? Is it catching up with what he _doesn’t_ know?

The drive home is a silent one. I don’t bother turning on the radio. The dread I feel is smothered as soon as I open the front door and Lucy jumps up at me. I’m confused by the grin that appears on my face as I close the door behind me and collapse onto the floor so she can reach me better, hugging her and letting her paw at my hands when I stop petting her for more than a second.

“I missed you too,” I say. I know she can’t understand me, I’m a somewhat intelligent person. But she licks my face like she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it isn't clear... i love the shawshank redemption.


	5. Chapter 5

I’m gonna do it, today. I’m gonna visit Ryan at work. And I’m gonna bring coffees from work like an excuse.

I take the morning shifts at Bluestone, normally. I think, for the past few weeks, I’ve kept my hopes up that perhaps a tired Ryan would come in at six in the morning and light up when he sees me in my stupid apron. But this hasn’t happened yet, so I’ve started taking the end shift from five to nine at night. That way, I can still do all my normal Lucy routine stuff and have a warm welcome home when I return. Lucy is quite the motivator. I feel like she knows it, too.

Anyway. I figured out which office Ryan has. He did an interview a few weeks ago regarding _whether or not we should be concerned about the Foster City killer,_ to which he says, _no._ They interviewed him outside of his office. The number on the door is 320. His name is on the door. Sometimes it’s just too easy.

I don’t know if he’s a hot or iced coffee man, so I brought one of each. The man at the front asks me what I need, and I hold up the coffees. I don’t _say_ I’m a new assistant and/or intern, but it’s certainly implied. I think the floral dress shirt might give that impression as well. Who knows. My clothes seem to have served me well in that department.

There’s a navigation map by the stairwell. Third floor, second door on the left. I can do that.

The elevator, of course, is out of service, so I have a lot of time to strategize on the way up. I think the best case scenario is that he’ll be standing in the hall when I get to the top. And I’ll get to say, “Fancy meeting you here!” Or maybe he’ll be walking into his office and I’ll get to go, “Hey, stranger.” And I’ll hold up the coffees. And he’ll say, “My hero!” Or something. I don’t know. I just hope I get to say a one-liner. I want to be cool.

But we can’t always get what we want. The hallway is dark, the overhead lights off and the night outside creating a pretty ominous atmosphere. His office is the only one occupied, but I can hear another voice echoing off the walls.

“Not like that.” That’s Ryan.

“Then how else would it be?” A woman.

I can’t say I’ve ever “crept” in my life, but that’s what I’m doing. Tip-toeing down the hallway, close to the wall. Beside Ryan’s open door, there’s a small offshoot with a couple bathrooms and one of those little divots in the wall with a water fountain. I cower in place, close enough to the door that I can hear their soft conversation.

“Back to what I was _saying_ ,” says Ryan. I wish I could see him. “The officers over in FC have absolutely _nothing_ to go on. We’ve got ten witnesses, but they all have different profiles of the guy they saw doing this. Tall, short, thin, heavy. I can’t keep it straight.”

“You think they’re lying?”

“Some of them, at least.” A long sigh. “We have a couple similarities, though. The older gentleman said it was a tall man with a thin face, that he looked like he was afraid. The little girl ID’d something similar. Said he looked kind.”

Since when were there witnesses? You’re telling me a _little girl_ was at that bus stop at one in the morning? In that parking lot in the middle of nowhere at five in the morning?

“Since when were there witnesses, anyway?” She asks. I want to thank her. “I thought there were none. They were in the middle of the night, I thought.”

“Right. They moved on from trying to find witnesses of the scene. They’re just kinda… picking and choosing residents, at this point.” Ryan sounds tired. I’ve got something to help with that, if this woman would just leave. “They say it would probably be a temporary resident, someone they wouldn’t recognize.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. It’s unorthodox, but it’s something. It’s more than they had before.” Shuffling. Papers rustling. “See – this guy recalls a _tall drink of water_ entering the diner the night before Malvo’s murder. Said he was quiet, but kind, and mysterious, but completely ordinary. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

I think I did get a bite to eat before… or did I? If it was me, it’s good that I didn’t make too much of an impression. _Tall drink of water._ Kind of like Shawshank.

“Sounds familiar,” says the woman. A pause. “Sounds like that neighbor guy you can’t shut up about.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

“Oh, whatever.” More paper shuffling. Hopefully putting the paper _away._ “He isn’t _mysterious,_ I just… don’t know him very well, yet.”

“Right, right.” Pause. “What’s that guy’s name, anyway?” she asks. I can hear a loud thud, like a heavy stack of books hitting a hardwood desk.

“Uh, Shane.” Why am I here right now? I just wanted to give him a coffee. Now I’m about to have a panic attack.

“And his last name?”

Ryan scoffs audibly. “Jackie, you are _not_ looking him up.”

“Who says I’m looking him up?”

“I can literally see Facebook open on your phone, right now.”

I’m so glad I made a Facebook account. But Ryan doesn’t know my name anyway, so it’s in vain for now.

“Noooooooo, what?” I almost laugh. She seems nice. It’s a shame that… no. No, Shane. Absolutely not.

“C’mon, get out. I’m trying to get stuff done.”

“Aw, I thought you needed some company!”

“Yeah, that was before you accused my neighbor of killing people.”

“Whattttt, no, I just – well, I guess I implied it – “

“Out!” Ryan laughs. I hear the noise of a chair rolling across tile. “Out of here, rapscallion. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I hear heels clacking on the floor. I flatten myself against the cold wall, closing my eyes as she passes as if that’ll help. I hold my breath, grip the coffees. I’m trying not to be seen. And all I can think about is _how to get rid of her._ But I don’t need to get rid of her. She’s fine, she was joking. _What if she wasn’t._ She was. I’ve started over. I’m not doing that again. She’s fine.

I wait until the clicking grows muted, as it echoes through the stairwell, and until it stops altogether. I exhale. Look at me! I controlled my homicidal thoughts! Growth!

I take a deep, quiet breath in. I’m going to need to really pull out the acting chops for this one. I took theater in high school. I like to think I was good at it. Time to reap the reward, I guess.

I take long strides _past_ his office first, fake-muttering to myself. At this point, I feel pretty good about myself. I’m selling this. Once I’m a few feet past the open door, light filtering out into the dark hallway, I back up a few steps. Ryan has his head in his hand, looking at me.

“Hey, stranger,” I say. I hold up the coffees.

He blinks. And again. And then he smiles. “It’s you!”

He sits up straight, stretching his arms over his head.

“Took me a hot second to find you,” I step inside. I hold both of the coffees out, allowing him to choose. “Had to get directions twice.”

“ _So_ sorry you had to go to the trouble,” Ryan takes the hot one. Good. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Saw you on the news this morning,” I don’t know if I’m allowed to sit, so I don’t. I stand awkwardly, sipping the iced coffee in my hands. “You said you’ve been _workin’ some hard hours and long nights,_ so.” I point to the coffee in his hands. “I felt like I could be of some assistance.”

“And you are.” He lifts his coffee like a toast before setting it down on his desk. “Really. I usually don’t drink coffee after seven, but… I needed this. This is a real pick-me-up, man.”

“Anytime. Sorry if I’m interrupting.” I turn a foot toward the door. I don’t want to leave. His office is amazing. It’s scattered yet warm. Like him. Shut up, Shane.

“Oh, shut up, Shane.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“You couldn’t interrupt if you tried,” he says, squinting at me. “You can sit down, if you want. I don’t know how long you wanna stay, but.”

“I have nothing else to do.” Casual. Nice. I fall into the chair on the other side of his desk, looking around at the clutter. There’s a pull-down map on the other side of the room. Foster City is circled. “Anything you need help with, around here?”

Ryan laughs. It dies quickly, though. He gently wraps his knuckles against the desk and sighs. “Hey, um.” He looks up at me through his eyelashes. I cross my legs. “You said you watched the news, right? This morning.”

I hum.

“Are you… What do you think?” He lowers his voice. He probably shouldn’t talk about it with the general public. That’s what he’s thinking. _I probably shouldn’t talk about this with Shane, he’s the general public._ My throat is dry. “About the case.”

“I don’t know,” I say. I look at the map again. I try a sigh. “Uh. It’s… it’s scary. Scary stuff.”

Ryan nods. He picks up his pen and scribbles something down. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know, man. I’m in over my head, here.”

I frown. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. He looks at me. His eyes are filled with an emotion I can’t begin to understand. “I just. You know, I’ve never solved anything. We don’t have any crazy things happen around here, but when there are… they’re always unsolved.”

“You’ll solve this one,” I say. I don’t mean that. “I know you will.”

“Thanks, Shane.” Ryan smiles. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. You just came to bring me a coffee, and I’m unloading on you.”

“No, it’s good. I’m glad.” I am glad. I’m glad he’s opening up to me. But I don’t know how to comfort him. “Anything you need, man, I’m… happy to help.”

I wish he could know that I’m done. I wish I could tell him he didn’t have to worry because the bad stuff was over. He solved it, already.

Ryan swivels in his chair, swaying back and forth, as he studies me. I take a long sip of coffee, scanning his office. Everywhere I look, there’s _something._ There’s not an inch of blank space in here. It’s small, like a glorified closet, but it’s perfect.

“What’s your last name?” Ryan’s voice makes me jump. He laughs, resting his head back on his chair. “Sorry I scared you.”

“I was deep in thought,” I pretend to be scandalized. “Why do you want to know?” I exaggerate the suspicion so the nerves don’t shine through. “I didn’t do it, officer.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, “What, maybe I just wanna know.”

So you can look me up on Facebook! This is going perfectly. I just finished filling everything out. And posting more pictures of Lucy. “Eh, whatever. It’s Madej, but it’s spelled… uh, very Polish-ly. M-A-D-E-J.”

“Wow. Polish.” He writes the letters down on the inside of his arm. I don’t know why he does it. He’s got paper everywhere. “Thanks. Sorry if that was weird, I’ve just been wondering.”

“Fair.” I keep the question in my mouth. I have to respect the objectives. I won’t ask him. “What did you think it’d be?”

“No idea. I like your last name, though. It fits, now that I think about it.” He scans me for a moment. It’s very odd. I cross my legs the other way. “Uh, and mine is… uh, Bergara. By the way. I figure you saw it on the news or whatever, but. Just to keep it fair.”

I can’t hold in my laugh. Everything is going swimmingly. There goes Objective One. “Ryan Bergara. Very nice.” I’m done with the objectives in my control. The last one will never be _completely_ done, but now I can start trying to build a relationship! I’m so excited.

“Thanks.” Ryan yawns, smothering it behind his hand. “Well, I’ll probably get back into this… uh, stuff.”

It isn’t a cue to leave, but I want to leave before I screw it up. Everything’s going well.

“Ah, I’ll leave you to it.” I stand. The chair rolls a little behind me. “Gotta go let Luce out and stuff anyway.”

“Alright, man. And thanks.” He nods his head toward the coffee. “It was good seeing you.”

“And you.” I smile on the way out, and it sticks until I’m home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh i'm so excited to get this going. 
> 
> the next chapter made me cry, so. be prepared for that. it's also the longest so far, which should tell you something. 
> 
> thank you again for your comments!!!!!!!! i've been getting a lot of motivation from you guys and i appreciate you ! 
> 
> hopefully you don't get mad at me for some of the next chapters coming up :)


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan invited me to dinner _out_ tonight! Can you believe it?

I’m sure it’s just a friend thing, but it’s exciting anyway. We haven’t really been out in public together, so I’m excited. I know it’s probably wishful thinking, but maybe I’ll start testing the waters tonight. I’m not sure. I’ll have to see what vibes I’m getting.

I think everything’s going well. We don’t talk a whole lot since we don’t have each other’s number, _but_ every time I walk Lucy by his house, Ryan peeks his head out of the front door and says hi. That’s gotta count for something. That seems a little more than friendliness.

I have to say I’ve been thinking a lot about my situation, today. Perfect timing, right?

While I dug through my closet for a shirt to wear earlier, I came across the shoebox again. I haven’t looked at that thing in at least a month. And… Ryan won’t be here for another few minutes…

I take the box into my hands, carry it over to my bed. I can allot some time to reminisce. I’m all dressed, I just have to put a jacket on. Lucy breathes a quiet sigh. I reach over and tussle the fur on her head.

I slowly open the lid, and there she is.

I remember when I got this gun. In college, I went to this old bully of mine’s house party. I remember I only went so I could trash the place or steal something really valuable. I’ve always been pretty vengeful, I guess.

But I was digging through the drawers in his room and I remember coming across this beauty. A Beretta M9A3 with a silencer already attached. I don’t know why I felt like this was the most important thing to take, but I did anyway. And we’ve seen quite a few tough times together.

Sometimes it’s almost sad to think I’ll never use it again, but you know – you keep things around for sentiments’ sake. And it’s for the better. I’m prepared to trade this gun for happiness. I’m prepared to trade a lot for happiness. Anything for Ryan.

I pick it up in my hands, carefully as though I haven’t had the safety on for months. I stand upright. Lucy watches me from the bed, eyeing me up questionably. I don’t blame her, really.

“I’m not doing anything,” I tell her. “Just looking.”

She snorts like she doesn’t believe me. Whatever.

“Chill,” I smile at her. It doesn’t ease her concern. “I’ve never been happier. Why would I do something rash when I’m living my best life?”

Lucy just stares at me. I feel like she’s judging me for using the phrase _living my best life._ I have to remind myself sometimes that she’s a dog. She seems so wise.

The grip is worn. I had forgotten that. I think it was from the countless nights I spent holding this thing, considering the potential. So weird, the desperation I felt. It’s odd, how accessible mortality is.

Lucy growls at me.

“Can you hear my thoughts?” I look at her, placing my free hand on my hip.

She covers her face with her paw.

“Okay, well, that’s – “

I hear a horn honk outside. Ryan’s early. That’s fine. No need to panic. I have a gun in my hand.

The logical thing to do would be to take my time – to put the gun back in the shoebox, slide it back into my closet, exit accordingly. But I panic. Muscle memory takes over. I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans and stumble toward the front door. I grab a blazer on the coat rack as I move. I don’t realize my mistake until I’m already in the car.

“Hey,” Ryan says. His hand is on the headrest of my seat as he smiles at me. “That’s a nice jacket.”

“Thanks!” I like his tie. “That’s a nice tie.”

Ryan snorts. “It’s the only tie I own.”

“Well, I didn’t know we were dressing up.”

“Says the guy wearing a blazer. C’mon,” he gives me a look. “This is what I wore to work today, that’s all. Don’t get a big head about it.”

I hold my hands up, “Anything you say, officer.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, smirking. “ _Anyways._ There’s this local diner that I’m a fan of. It’s got great food _and_ there’s always no one in there. Like, I’m not sure how it doesn’t go out of business, it’s crazy.”

“Huh.” Is he choosing this place because it’s good or because no one will see us there? “Well, count me in.”

“Did you have anything in mind?”

“My mind is completely clear.” I grasp the door handle. I look over at Ryan, not meaning to stare but doing it anyway.

He makes a face. “What?”

Shit. Make an excuse. “Uh. Your window.” It’s slightly open. I don’t know why that’s odd to me.

“Yeah, it’s broken for some reason.” He takes a hand off the wheel to demonstrate, pulling the control that would normally roll it up. Nothing happens. “I don’t know what happened, really. Sometimes when I’m on the freeway, it rattles. It’s a nightmare.”

“Ah,” I nod once. “If I was any good with cars, I’d fix it. But alas.”

“But alas,” Ryan repeats. He taps his fingers on the wheel. “You know, I don’t mean to be forward. But – what _are you_ good at?”

I sputter for a second, laughing probably harder than I should. “Sorry, the way you worded that made me laugh.”

“S’fine,” he says, joining in. “I just mean… uh, I know your name and your occupation and that’s it.”

“You know where I live,” I tell him. “And that I have a dog.”

“Shane.”

“What?”

“What are your _interests,_ I mean.” I get hypnotized by his hands as they turn the wheel. “Jackie was right, you’re definitely mysterious.”

“Excuse me?” I’m trying to get off of this subject. I don’t have many hobbies, right now. I’m looking at my hobby, really. But I can’t say, _oh, yeah, I’m actually super into wooing you right now._ “Who’s Jackie?”

“Co-worker,” he says shortly. I want to ask more, but suddenly we’re parked.

“That was quick,” I tell him, for some reason.

“Yeah! I like this place. It’s kinda perfect. Close to the neighborhood, never busy, good food.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and smiles over at me. “Best of the best.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I wink again. I swear I never did this before meeting Ryan. “Let’s go.”

Ryan wasn’t kidding when he said this place would be dead. The hostess looks genuinely surprised to see us walk through the door, but she looks at Ryan and seems to relax.

“Oh, hey, Ryan.” She grabs a couple of menus. Her name tag reads _Lindsay._ “How are you doing, these days? Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Eh, I’m makin’ it,” he shrugs. He turns to me, holding a hand out like Vanna White. “This is Shane. He’s new around here. Just thought I’d show him the best establishment in town.”

She laughs a little too hard at that. I’m sure she’s very nice, but I’m not a fan. Ryan’s just naturally charming, I get why she’d like him.

“Your usual booth, then?”

“Yes, please.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, _get a load of me,_ before he starts following her through the main seating area.

I wait until we’re settled in Ryan’s “specialty booth” by the window (and until she leaves) to say, “You know, I’ve always wanted to, like, have a _usual_ somewhere.”

Ryan nods, “Yeah, so have I! I was lucky enough to know some small business owners who can give me some semblance of that.”

A younger guy comes up to the table, adjusting his glasses. I don’t understand the first half of what he says because I’ve zoned out on Ryan’s face. When Ryan looks at me in that _okay, your turn_ way, I say _water_ because I imagine he asked what I’d like to drink. I guessed correctly, because the guy leaves, and then it’s just me and Ryan. As it’s meant to be.

I don’t know why I’m so territorial, right now. Perhaps it’s the gun that’s pressing into my back.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was dead,” I unfold the napkin to get to the silverware nestled inside. I don’t even need to look at the menu, I’m gonna get a salad. I feel particularly vulnerable tonight. Salad moods. “Are you the only person who comes here?”

“I’d say I’m their most frequent customer, I guess. They get a lot of construction workers and interns here,” Ryan looks around, folding his arms on the table. “Pretty mellow crowd.”

“Hm,” I say. And that’s the end of that.

The waiter comes back with our drinks and we sip in silence for a minute, staring each other down. I catch the twinkle in Ryan’s eye. I think he’s holding a lot of mischief back. I hope I get to see some Ryan mischief soon.

Then conversation continues. The sun goes down. I get a salad, Ryan gets a burger. We eat and talk for what feels like years but couldn’t be more than a few minutes.

Suddenly, and without warning, Ryan slaps his forehead like a cartoon character. I almost spit out my water.

“Shane, you never answered my question!” He stares at me, hard, “What are your interests?”

“Why’d you just slap your forehead like a cartoon character?” I’m so glad water didn’t come out of my nose.

“Don’t change the subject! No running this time, Madej.”

I like the sound of my name in Ryan’s tone of voice. Just a side note.

“Eh, I don’t have any interests.” I shrug, looking out the window. Ryan’s car looks lonely in the parking lot. “Too busy.”

“You’re not too busy for _interests._ ”

“I’m a very busy man.”

“Shane.”

“Fine,” I slump in my seat, grinning. “I did theater in high school and I went for a minor in music in college. Was in a few film clubs. But I do none of those things anymore.”

Ryan hums. “So, you like the arts, then.”

“Yep. Big art fan,” I take a long sip of water to keep from talking. “I just don’t have the motivation to do anything like that anymore. M’getting old.”

“What?” Ryan scoffs. “You’re not old.”

“I’m thirty three.”

Ryan opens his mouth to respond, then he blinks. “Really?”

“Told ya.”

“No, you’re still not old, I just…” He leans back in his seat. “I don’t know why that’s such a surprise to me.”

“Did you think I was older?”

“Younger,” he says, to my surprise. “Like my age, or something.”

“Your age,” I repeat. That’s it, that’s the sentence. “Anyway. Yeah. I don’t do anything these days.”

“I mean, you must be interested in _something._ ”

This is a good time to test the waters, right? Right? It’s been three months, at least, since I met him

“I think my one and only interest,” I say, “is spending time with you.”

Ryan coughs a little bit. He looks at me and smiles, “Aw.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just shrug, stabbing at my salad that I’m no longer going to eat. “See? Aren’t you glad you spent so much time trying to coax that out of me?”

“Coax what out of you?” Ryan says, tilting his head ever so slightly.

I flounder. I put my fork down. “Oh… I mean. Nothing, really.”

Ryan seems confused. I backpedal.

“Like – I mean, you asked what I’m interested in, and I said that I’m, uh, I’m interested in _you_ , you know. Like, I guess that probably wasn’t worth all the interrogations.” I place my hands on either side of my plate to ground myself. I don’t feel well. Everything up to this point has been a dream, but why is that stopping? Why is Ryan looking at me like that? “Y’know. Just generally.”

The look on his face makes me sink. It’s almost like I’ve been living in a perfect montage for the past few months and the veil has been lifted away. Ryan’s tie isn’t as vibrant, his smile less bright.

“Oh, I see,” Ryan says, quite cryptically. He looks nervous for a moment before he squares his shoulders. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.”

I think we can all agree that’s not a great sign.

“That’s pretty ominous,” I say, laughing. This is a nightmare. “What do you mean?”

Ryan reaches across the table and puts his hand over my hand, which immediately shuts me up. I don’t like the way he does it. It feels like bad news is coming. My gun is pressing into my back.

“I just…” Ryan lets the warmth of his palm sink into the top of my hand before he retracts it. “I love spending time with you, Shane…“

He used my name in that tone. Can’t be good.

“I… I’m not – this isn’t, like, a comment on you, but more on me… kinda, what’s going on in my life right now. Uh. Yeah. God, this is awkward. I’m probably not super coherent, right now.” He clears his throat, “Look, Shane, I don’t think… well. I don’t really, I guess, uh, care for you in that way. And I’m sorry if… uh. Sorry if this comes as a surprise to you, or… something. I thought we were just hanging out as… uh, friends.”

Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m not shattered at all, this is just… I didn’t like him anyway, so. It’s not like I wanted to marry him or anything. Ha. Ha.

He continues. “I guess I was just really excited to have a neighbor that wasn’t, like, eighty.” He laughs. I hear myself mimic the sound. “I’m really sorry if I crowded you or, like, made you think…”

Who am I fucking kidding. For some reason, the entirety of my world is shifting below me, ready to swallow me whole but leaving me above ground for just a little longer so I can embarrass myself first. I mean, I could have _sworn_ he liked me. Or at least – I don’t know. Maybe I thought wrong. This whole time… all those times I thought I was getting closer to him were completely made up in my head. I’ve been so touch-starved for the past ten years of my life, of course I projected my desires onto this poor guy. He was just being friendly. Fuck.

I’ve always wondered what heartbreak feels like. What a waste of wondering. This is agony. People who have committed homicidal acts have feelings too, apparently. I wish I was one of the emotionless ones.

I realize I haven’t said anything yet. Ryan’s still here, giving me that pity smile I wish I never had to see.

“Right, _totally_ ,” I nod. I’m having a little bit of trouble breathing and my vision is going all blurry. But he’s smiling, so I do so as well. “Sorry, for uh…. You know, making you uncomfortable, if I did.”

“No, man! I’m fine, it’s all good, I just… you know.” He pokes at his leftovers with his fork, chuckling, “I didn’t wanna… I don’t know, lead you on or something.”

“Yeah, thanks.” The tears are building, but I don’t want to let them fall by moving too much. I don’t want to cry in front of Ryan. Then he’ll _definitely_ never talk to me again. “Anyways. I’d better be going.”

Ryan nods, folding his napkin, “Yeah, I’ll take the check and we can go.”

“Uh.” I hold a hand out and try another smile. It doesn’t fit right, I can feel it slipping down my face. “Actually, I can take the check. And uh. I’ll walk. It’s a nice night. And we’re not too far.”

“Ah, okay.” Ryan smiles back at me. I wonder if he’s seeing how hard of a time I’m having. I don’t think he can. He’s easy to read. I would like to think he’d be remorseful if he knew the swiftness and pain with which he’s ripped my guts out tonight. “Well. I’ll see you around, then? Thanks for dinner.”

“Anytime.” Never again. I catch my smile before it slips, making it wider than before. I jerk my head in the direction of the door, “Get outta here, you crazy kid.” My voice is wavering. Can you hear it, Ryan? “I’ll get the check. Go on, now.”

He laughs really hard. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And I’ve _killed_ three fucking people. Jesus Christ, I’m _never_ going to be happy again.

“Shane, you’re so fuckin’ funny,” he says, slipping out of the booth. He pats my shoulder on the way out. “See ya. Thanks again, man.”

There’s no way he can’t tell. Am I that good of an actor? I must have missed my calling.

I wave to him through the window. He waves back and puts his hands together in a _thank you_ motion. The headlights strain my stinging eyes. I wait until his car pulls out of the lot before I succumb to the fatigue of my resolve slipping through my fingers. I slide down in the booth until my knees hit the seat across from me. The tears fall. I don’t care that I’m in public. I stare up at the faux stained-glass light fixture that hangs over the table until it blurs into colored nothing.

Why’d he leave? He was so quick to leave. Why did he leave me here? I’d really fucking like to wake up now.

I pull myself to sit up, pawing at my eyes. This is pathetic. I’m a grown man. I’ve done unimaginable things, I’ve taken a hold of life and death. I’ve played God not once, but three fucking times. I don’t need to cry over this.

“Uh, sir?” I hear the waiter ask.

I look over at him, sniffling. I wipe my eyes with my left hand, curving my lips upwards. “Sorry. Uh, what do I owe you?”

“Are you okay?” He has the check in his hand but he’s still standing here. “Did Ryan… say something to you… or something?”

Aw. Thanks, Todd. (Todd’s the name on his nametag. I missed that, earlier.) “Yeah, but it’s fine. I’ll just take the check. Thanks.”

He frowns and looks down at the mini clipboard in his hand. “I… I can recalculate this, if you want. Like, we have a discount for staff and family members, and – “

“Ah, Todd. You’re a gem.” I wish this would cheer me up, but it’s just making me feel empty inside. This stranger is showing me more kindness than Ryan did? That doesn’t seem right. “Don’t worry about it, man. I got it.”

Todd seems reluctant to hand me the full check, but he does anyway. He opens his mouth to say something, but turns and walks away.

I place all of the cash in my wallet on the table – I don’t know how much it is, but Todd deserves all of it – save for a few twenties (for dog food for Lucy). And then I leave.

The plan to walk a mile or two home is foiled by the fact that my legs are buckling every other step. I’m so tired. I still don’t understand why he left. He didn’t have anything to do. I know it was awkward, but still. He could have stayed, if he wanted. I mean. I’m glad he didn’t, because I’m a _wreck_. But it hurts. It’s like… I can’t even describe it. I’ve never been so lonely in my fucking life, even considering the fact that I haven’t had a friend in a good few years.

I can’t make it home like this. I’m surprised it isn’t raining yet. That seems like the only possible next factor to really complete the environment I’m in right now.

I shuffle to the bus stop. I haven’t been on a bus in three months, just about. I’m trying to keep everything in my throat, right now. I’ll let you know how successful that ends up being.

It takes forty minutes for the bus to arrive. It’s nearly dead, just one or two visible heads save for the bus driver. I fumble with my pass as it screeches to a stop. I just want to sleep for three weeks. I need to call in from work or something. I’m trying to plan the next month out in my head. I won’t have to go outside to walk Lucy, I can just play fetch with her in the yard. I could teach her how to swim, that would be good exercise for her. I can order groceries to the house – scratch that. I don’t want to eat food ever again.

I can’t draw the line between dramatics and necessity. I fall into a seat near the middle of the bus, pressing the side of my body against the cold window. I can’t breathe very well. I don’t think this is a panic attack, but it almost feels similar.

I shouldn’t put this on Ryan. This isn’t his fault. This is completely my doing, like he said. I did this to myself. Hope is a dangerous thing. Red said that in Shawshank Redemption. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

I watch my neighborhood pass through the window. I don’t do anything about it. I just watch it grow and then shrink as we pass. I’ll get home at some point. I can’t bring myself to move.

About five miles out, the bus screeches to a halt again. The doors hiss open. A man stands in the back, grasping the seats for support as he does. I feel my wobbly legs stand, feel my lungs take a shaky breath in, and I follow.

I know I said I’m done with this sort of stuff, but consider this a minor relapse. You know, in the morning, they’ll say he got off the wrong bus on the way home from work. They always do. So weird, that phrase. So often used.

About two hours later, I’m unlocking the back door with my gun tucked into the back of my jeans. Lucy is standing on the couch and barking at me. She must recognize me – the barks aren’t as harsh as when she hears the neighbors yelling at each other. The noise is soft and disappointed. It’s as if she’s scolding me.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I say, trying to ignore that I’m trying to explain myself to a dog. How does she know what I did, anyway? There’s no blood on me, I made sure of that. I leave the door open so she can go outside. She does so, very slowly, creeping across the floor with her head down.

I place the gun back in the box and slide it into my closet. No more. Starting now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))))))))
> 
> i hate myself


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's an extra chapter! i'll post two today, simply because i'm so impatient.

This is day thirteen of sulking. There is no end in sight.

I have completely rewritten my daily schedule as to avoid any possible contact of any kind with Ryan. That in itself is death by a thousand cuts, the reworking of my life on a daily level. It’s unacceptable, truly. But this is what we do, as adults, we succumb to the rolling tides of change. (I say this as I cry non-stop about my neighbor-crush, so. Take my words with several grains of salt.)

I take the closing shift at the coffee shop, still, this hasn’t changed. But I’ve made a deal with Mara (the shift manager, who likes me) where I come in at seven instead of five and I stay two hours extra, cleaning up and checking inventory and doing whatever else needs to be done. That way I can know for _sure_ that Ryan won’t come in since he doesn’t drink coffee after seven.

I don’t even take Lucy for walks past his house. On the days when I can keep myself together, I’ll manage to walk her up and down the driveway for a few minutes, but today is not one of those days. I’m wearing sunglasses to shield my sensitive teary eyes from the bastard sun. I think the longest I’ve gone without crying was about three hours while I watched _There Will Be Blood._ I love that movie so much. I was really in a Shawshank mood earlier today, but I can’t stand to look at it right now.

On days like today, I play fetch with her from the comfort of my lounge chair. My legs are still wobbly. It’s been _thirteen days,_ why am I still so weak? I’ve never felt like this before. Is this what a breakup feels like? I hate it.

Every now and then I’ll have a moment of peace – while making coffee or sleeping. But then something sparks a memory, and I’m back at square one. I mean, I feel like such an idiot. Why did I think I could get something I wanted? I've probably lost that privilege, right? I mean, I know I probably don't _deserve_ happiness, but it would be _nice_.

“Fetch, Luce,” I say, my voice still hoarse. It’s getting better, I think, but I can’t remember how it felt to talk normally. She seems hesitant today to go after the ball, but her dog instincts take over and she does anyway. “It’s okay.”

Lucy trots back over to me, gingerly placing the ball on the chair next to me. She grumbles at me.

“What?” I ask. “What are you trying to say to me, right now?”

She growls. She sits next to me and puts a big paw on my leg.

“I don’t understand,” I place my hand on her head. “I wish I could. I could use your wisdom.”

She blinks at me before ducking out of reach and trudging around me to sit in the lounge chair next to me. She tries to do that thing where she circles around to find the perfect way to lay, but the chair isn’t big enough for a walk, so she plops down without the journey.

“I hope I’m not bumming you out,” I say, though my voice is still gummy with inescapable misery. “I know dogs sense that stuff, but it’s gonna be okay. Someday, anyway.”

She just huffs, closing her eyes. I follow her lead. It’s hard to be consciously upset when you’re unconscious.

I truly don’t know what I’m going to do. Should I move? I don’t want to move again, I’ve had a really good time here. I like this house. Lucy likes this house. It’s going to be difficult to move on from this, really. I mean – I don’t want to get to know anyone else. This was my one time exception and I fuckin’ beefed it.

After a few good minutes of sitting with my eyes closed to no avail, I reopen them

I spot movement in the corner of my eye. No - I spot _him_ out of the corner of my eye, walking around my car and up the driveway. I ignore the image of him for a few seconds, honestly believing he's a mirage. But then he says _"uh, Shane?"_ so gently I have to believe he's here. He must think I'm asleep. These sunglasses provide me with the illusion of peace. I'm wide awake and incredibly nervous. I hum, lifting my head.

"Hey," he says. He taps his fingers against the gate. "Is... can I come in?"

"I mean, yeah." I struggle to sit up on the lawn lounge chair. I've been glued to this thing for God knows how long. "Come on in, officer. You have a warrant?"

Ryan doesn't laugh. He closes the gate behind him and Lucy's ears perk up at the clank, nearly tripping over herself to run toward him. He kneels to pet her, though he doesn't stop looking at me. I push my sunglasses up onto my head, squinting. I forgot the sun was this bright.

"Look, I..." He clears his throat. I raise my eyebrows. "I'm sorry about what I said."

Oh, great. He's here to _make amends._ I don't want to be friends anymore. I want to be alone forever.

"S'fine," I say, even though it's not and I want to jump into the pool and sink to the bottom and never resurface. "Don't worry about it. Had a little lapse of judgment, that's all. I've... uh, come to terms with it." I'm fucking miserable.

Ryan frowns at me. I look down at my hands. I squint. I _swear_ – I keep thinking I see blood underneath my fingernails, but then I’ll blink and it’s gone.

"No, I mean... I meant, I..." His hands fall into his lap. Lucy places an adamant paw on his arm. He shakes his head softly at her. She solemnly trudges back to me. "I'd like us to start over. I wanna give it another shot, if you'll let me"

I chuckle. Not because it's funny, though it is, but because this is particularly pitiful for me. I must have guilted him into this. Even not talking to him for two weeks, I somehow twisted everything up.

"Seriously, it's alright. I'm fine to be just friends, if you can still... uh, bear to look at me." I laugh again. I need to find another way to cover up my vulnerabilities. I can taste the lack of a genuine tone.

Plus, I'd rather die than be just friends, just for the record. But this is what adults do, they compromise and live tortured and starved lives, consumed by regret and cravings for what could have been. Ryan is staring at me, almost blank in the face. I don't know what he wants from me.

I continue, "Do you wanna shake on it? Or what? I'm not... it's fine, it's _okay_. No need for amends where amends already exist."

Ryan pushes himself to stand.

"I mean it, Shane. Really." Ryan's voice is wet. "I shouldn't have left you there and I shouldn't have made it seem like I didn't care about you because I _do_ but I just... I don't know what I was thinking."

"Did Todd call you?" I ask. I bet that’s why he’s doing this.

Ryan looks at me. "What?"

My eyes are so sensitive. I put my hand over my eyes just for some relief. " _Todd_ , the kid from the diner. Did he call you?"

"Oh. No.” Ryan looks like he has something else to say. It takes him a moment to spit it out. “… But Lindsay did."

"Fucking _Lindsay_." The diner hostess. I wonder if she had an ulterior motive or something.

"I'm sorry, Shane." I peek out from my fingers to see him.

"Just." I shake my head. I’m getting a cry migraine. A crygraine, if you will. "Really, Ryan. I'm coming to terms with it, I promise. We can still be buddies, I don't care."

"I'm sorry I made it seem like it was your fault that you cared about me." Ryan seems surprised at the words that come out of his own mouth.

I'm going to cry again. Damn my eyes. I cover them again. "Well. It is, if you think about it."

"No, it's not!" It’s almost a yell. I’ve never heard Ryan yell before. I wait for him to continue, my hand falling into my lap. Ryan crosses his arms over his chest, looking anywhere but at me. "Shane, please. I'm... I guess… it’s not…”

I let him think in real time. I don’t say a word. I don’t move a muscle. My brain is throbbing.

“When I said it’s not a comment on you, I meant it.” He doesn’t move from where he’s standing a few feet away. The pool is reflecting off of his face. “Ugh. I – okay, so.. ugh, this is the worst. I don't want to make this about me. I don't... I don't know." He begins to pace a little bit, hand tangled in his hair. "Look, I've never been with a guy before, okay? And the whole time we were... like, hanging out, I was terrified that you felt the same way because I don't even know what that _means_."

I close my mouth.

“And I didn’t want to lead _you_ on because if I lead _you_ on then I’d lead _me_ on.”

“Ryan, you’re not making a lot of sense.” He is, actually. I can see traces of his thought process, for sure. I’m just trying to identify the parts that are relevant to me – I search for a sign in his words, something to tell me what to do.

“I know.” He doesn’t look like he’s been crying. That’s good. He starts walking toward me and I wonder if I should get out of his way.

I think we’re both burned out, in different ways. I can’t stand without falling over because I’ve dehydrated myself by crying constantly and he’s… well, he’s determined, for some reason. He’s walking over here like he has a point to prove, and that terrifies me for some reason.

My heart stops beating for a moment. Ryan sits on the side of the lounge chair I’m in, barely sitting at all. He looks between my eyes and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“You’ve been crying,” he says.

It isn’t a question, but I say “No...” because I would like some control back, now. I’ve been so focused on letting him have control that I’m lost at sea right now.

And then his face is in front of mine and he’s kissing me…? Yeah. I’m getting kissed. I’m definitely getting kissed – I can feel the pressure on my mouth, and I recognize Ryan’s cologne for sure. How many days have I been awake? Am I hallucinating? Do hallucinations create perfect and realistic recreations of my wildest dreams?

I forget to close my eyes. It’s over several minutes too soon. Ryan’s leaning back and looking at me with a very particular expression that I couldn’t describe if I wanted to. For a moment, I think I’ve imagined it. I feel a supernova in my stomach. Ryan looks unfazed.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says quietly. My sunglasses fall back onto my nose. I'm afraid to blink. "I thought… I thought it'd be easier to just take some time away and we’d move on, but I don't think I could stand that."

"I..." My head's a little blurry, admittedly.

I'm torn between unconditional elation and severe guilt. This is what I’ve been working towards, this is the one dream I have left, I just… I wish I'd... y'know, I wish I waited a few days before killing that guy. Now I'm probably going to have to deal with that since I’ll be spending time with Ryan again. Damn.

"R-Really?" The word catches in my throat. I’m still reeling. I can’t wait to start the rest of my life but I’m terrified that this won’t last. But I want this. But he won’t. “You’re sure?” I ask because I’m not sure anymore. I had lost almost all my hope, and the only hope I have left is an anxious, doubting type.

"Yes," Ryan nods, his eyebrows set. He's very serious about this. He reaches into his pocket, almost violently so. He holds it out to me. I don’t move, staring at it. The hard outer shell melts and he's nervous again. He takes his eyes off of me to look at the phone in his hand like it might bite him. "Uh, I'm gonna need your phone number."

“Oh,” I say. It’s more of a breath than a word. This is all I’ve ever wanted but I don’t deserve it. “Oh, okay.” My hand shakes as I go to grab it. “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at them! they fixed it, kinda.
> 
> i sure hope it lasts... :)
> 
> (((i hope you're doing well!!!! thank you so much for reading and dealing with the angst. i swear i thought this would be happier but it's hard to keep spirits up when you're talking about a reforming serial killer with terrible luck, apparently.)))
> 
> here are some more pictures of olive (aka the dog lucy is based off of): https://imgur.com/gallery/D8rsu3m


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry I haven’t checked in for a while. I’ve been a little busy.

It’s been… what, a month now? More? I can’t say I know for sure. I’ve been too lost in this new routine to pay attention to the date. I’ll update you on the new schedule accordingly, as it’s very important to know going forward.

So, to recap: my original routine was to get up, watch the news, feed Lucy, take her on a walk, see where the day took me.

Then it changed to: get up, watch the news, feed and walk Lucy, develop a social (media) life and hang with Lucy during the day, go to work at night.

 _Then_ it was: get up, cry, watch the news, cry, feed Lucy, cry, throw a ball around, cry, watch a movie, cry, go to work at night, cry, sleep ungodly amounts.

Now that I’ve recouped and Ryan and I are… well, whatever we are… my schedule is: get up, feed and walk Lucy, text Ryan, make lunch, go to work, and visit Ryan at work with coffee and treats in tow.

I think I’m content with this routine. I think I’d like things to stop changing now. Lock my fate up and throw away the key, this is how I’d like things to be when I die.

I’ve been bringing caffeine to Ryan every day for the past three weeks after my shift. He’s been working a lot of rough nights – apparently there’s been a murder recently that they think is linked to Foster City. That’s weird, isn’t it? Ha.

For the record, I’m not proud. It was a moment of weakness, and I feel terrible. However. No one is going to trace me to this. I’m certain of it. They haven’t gotten me yet, and they never will. I’m pretty certain of this. I’ll tell you why I’m certain, it’s because every night I sit with Ryan at his office, he says the same thing.

“We’re in a corner,” he tips his head back, folding his hands behind his head. “I mean. It has to be the same guy. Same situation, same ammo, same everything. I was hoping it wouldn’t be the case, but it seems to be. So where do we go from here?”

I offer a good-hearted shrug. “I wish I could tell you, Ryan.”

“It’s just… why here?” He slides down in his chair, looking across his paper-covered desk to me. I press my lips together. “Of all places to go, why not… I don’t know, why not flee the country or fuckin’… go to some quiet town to reflect?”

I feel like I shouldn’t say this but I’m going to anyway. “Maybe this guy just wanted to move on or something?”

Ryan laughs, “Maybe.” He taps his hand on the desk. “You always see a bright side to things.”

“What can I say?” I don’t know what to say next, so I say nothing. I take a long sip of coffee.

He rolls closer to the desk, pulling his laptop closer to himself. He types for a few moments, I check my phone. I don’t know what I’m checking for. I know I don’t have any notifications. It’s fun to pretend, though.

“I thought you didn’t have a Facebook,” Ryan says suddenly.

I look up to see him holding his laptop, facing me, showing me my own Facebook page.

[I’ve taken a bunch of other photos since we last spoke, by the way. Only one of them is of Ryan, asleep in his desk chair from the day I came to bring caffeine and found him snoozing. I found out that people like taking pictures of food? Apparently? I still have no friends, but it’s kind of fun.]

“What?” This is a little bit of a shock to me. I had accepted that he was never going to find out. At this point, it’s just a bit of a comfort to me. “What do you mean?”

“The day we first met. I looked you up on Facebook and you didn’t pop up.”

“Well I didn’t have one back then – and how’d you look me up?” I squint at him, “You didn’t know my last name.”

“Yeah, I did.”

The gasp that comes out of my mouth is entirely real, I promise. I run a hand through my hair. “How?”

“I mean, I knew where you lived, Shane. I know a lot about you,” he says, and I almost get nervous, but his smile is too wide to be worrying. “Your name’s on public record, goof. Shane Alexander Madej, born May 16th, 1986.”

I have never felt happier in my fucking life. Oh my God. This whole time I thought I was the only one with stalking tendencies. I mean, I definitely have _worse_ stalking tendencies. But he looked me up! He knew my name! He knew my birthday!! Wait –

“So, why’d you ask me, then?” I swivel slightly in the chair, swaying. “Why’d you ask my last name if you knew it?”

“Because I had to. I mean, you don’t just _know_ someone’s last name. I had to ask, that’s… that’s what you do.” He shrugs, turning his laptop around to face him. He clicks. I get the first Facebook notification – _Ryan Bergara requested to be your friend._ This is wonderful. He leans closer to the screen, “There’s a picture of me.”

“Yep,” I set my phone face-up on my leg, watching the notifications pop up as he likes every photo I’ve posted. “I like these, Shane. Why haven’t I seen these?”

“Don’t know,” I say. Because I thought he’d never find this account.

He hums, his eyebrows drawing together. “You don’t have any friends?”

I can’t stop the scoff that escapes. “No. I don’t really know anyone very closely. Just you and Lucy. Everyone else is… uh, at most, an acquaintance.”

“Really?” Ryan looks at me for a long time. “How? You’re the friendliest person I know.”

That’s a great compliment. I’m keeping myself from tearing up. “Yeah? You’re the friendliest person _I_ know.”

“I just – I don’t know, when I first met you I thought you were one of those people who has, like, a civilization’s worth of people around you at all times.”

Another hilarious statement that could not be farther from the truth. “Well, that’s kind.”

“So…” Ryan closes the laptop. He has an odd smile on his face. “So… when we first met. Like _first_ met, did you… uh, were you _interested_ in me, then?”

I shift in my seat. Yes. One thousand percent yes. I must say, I’m elated that he’s asking this. It feels like I’ve made progress. It feels like this is _real._

“For sure,” I nod curtly. He laughs pretty hard, messing with his pen. “I think… when I was talking to you actively, I was like, _he seems like a nice guy I’d like to know better,_ but then… like, when I got home I was thinking…” I wanna marry him. “…uh, _I’m interested._ ”

Ryan snorts, “Yeah.” I like when he looks at me like that. He looks soft. I wonder when it’s acceptable to hug him. I wonder when it’s acceptable to kiss him again. I wonder when it’s acceptable to tell him I love him. Probably not any time soon. “I think… you know, I was interested too, I was just… I guess, confused.”

“That’s okay, though. It makes sense.” I hold a hand out, “I mean, hey, I’m sorry I broke your hetero streak.”

Ryan covers his face with his hands. I can see him turning red. I take this as a win.

“Shut up, Shane,” he says. I love it when he says that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw how sweet!!!!!!!!!
> 
> my college classes officially ended today so i'll be able to write more! not that it kept me from writing in the first place but now it'll EXTRA not keep me from writing!
> 
> next chapter isn't too bad but the next next chapter? uhhhhh let's just say i can't wait for you to read it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's today's update!
> 
> ooohhoohohohohohohoho the beginning of the end babeyyy. buckle up.

Ryan and I are at dinner again. We haven’t gone in quite a long time, Ryan’s been busy with work and I’ve been… uhhhh… supporting him. We haven’t dressed up with the purpose of going out in a good few weeks. I think the closest thing to a date night we’ve had is him driving me home and staying for a few minutes to see Lucy.

I will say: being able to say _date night_ like it's a casual occurrence gives me so much joy.

Things are looking up for me. It’s been about two months now since he kissed me. We’re still a fresh relationship (I’m pretty sure we can call this a relationship) but it doesn’t make it any less real. We’re not to pet names yet – I don’t know if Ryan even likes pet names. I’d love him to call me something cute. But everyone knows you don’t make your own nicknames. That’s not how it works.

I hear Ryan honk the horn outside. I like the noise this time – this time, I won’t bring a gun to dinner. It’s going to be fun and I’m not going to cry. I kiss Lucy’s head on the way out the door. Not sure when I started doing that.

Ryan is on the outside of the car when I step out onto the front porch, leaning on the hood of the car like he’s a rapscallion in a cool teen movie.

“You look like a rapscallion in a cool teen movie,” I say, taking my time going down the few steps from the porch to the driveway. I want to look at him forever.

“That’s exactly what I was going for, actually.” He grins as I come to stand in front of him.

I don’t know what to do when he puts his hands on my hips. This has never happened to me before. I feel lighter than air. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“You look nice,” I say, my voice only slightly wavering. “D’you get the night off?”

“Not officially. I’m free unless something comes up in the case, which is very unlikely.” He doesn’t move. He looks up at me. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I just wanted to.”

“No, it’s, uh.” I stutter for a second. He seems to get why. “It’s good. S’good. Thank you.”

He chuckles and lets me go. “Shall we, then?”

“We shall.”

[The car window rattles all the way to the restaurant. I smirk over at Ryan and he rolls his eyes at me.

“It’s getting worse,” I say. It’s almost halfway open, at this point.

“Yeah, I need to try and find time to get it checked out.” Ryan shrugs, “Don’t have a lot of time anymore.”

“Well. When you do find the time, maybe I could go with you?”

He looks over at me. “You know, I’d like that.”]

This place is nice. It isn’t the diner, so there are people _everywhere._ And usually, I’d be afraid to be seen. But I’m being seen with _Ryan._ I’d love nothing more than to grab his hand and hold it, but I don’t know if he would like that. I know he cares about me… at least, I’m pretty sure. I know he’s still feeling this sort of dynamic out, but that’s okay. I’m lucky to be able to see him at all.

We’re placed at a booth in the corner of the restaurant. Again. I can see Ryan’s car out of the window. Again. It’s certainly similar to our last public dining experience, but this time I won’t be absolutely crushed by the end of it!

The majority of the night is fun! I like it when Ryan laughs so hard he puts his hand on his stomach. He does it twice in the span of thirty minutes. I feel like the funniest person in the world.

I will say: the only problem is that he keeps getting calls from work. He has the phone on the table for the first half of the night, but the constant vibrations make him swipe it onto the booth beside him.

“You should probably answer that,” I say around a bite of lettuce. “It’s work, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he sighs, “I don’t think I can handle any more bad news, you know? It’s constantly bad news, always no leads. What’s the point of answering?”

“What if it’s good news?” I ask, not wanting it to be good news. Good news for Ryan is bad news for me. What a position I've put myself in. 

“It won’t be,” he clears his throat, grabbing his water.

“But…?” I say, just as his phone starts vibrating. “It could be.”

“Shane, I don’t want to be distracted by work. I’m spending time with you.”

“Go ahead and pick it up, Ryan, I don’t mind.” I roll my eyes as Ryan attempts a pout. “Really. It’s important.”

“Not more important than you.”

Oh. My. God. I love him. “I’m not budging.”

“Okay, fine.” He glares at me as he raises the phone to his ear. “Bergara.”

I play with my food. I know he’s probably going to have to leave after this. I know he’s a busy guy and _way_ more important than me, but I can’t help the sinking feeling in my chest.

 _“W-what?”_ His eyes light up. He aims his spotlights at me, mouth shaped like an O. “Alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.”

He hangs up and drops the phone into his shirt pocket. So, he definitely needs to go. Damn.

“Good news?” I ask, hoping he says no.

“They found a wallet at the scene! They’re saying it might be the culprit’s – based on the driver’s license, they can match a few details to the testimonies in Foster City.” Ryan is glowing. He runs a hand through his hair, “I mean, how lucky is that? Of all things to leave at a scene!”

I smile. I slowly brush my hand down the front of my pants, trying not to let on that I'm doing so. My wallet’s still in my pocket. So whose wallet do they have?

“That’s great, Ryan!” They won’t have enough evidence to indict this… stranger, right? They wouldn’t come up with a strong enough case. “Wow. Well, you gotta go, then!”

“I mean, I said I’d get there _as soon as I can._ So, we can stay…”

“You’re practically jumpin’ out of your boots.” I don’t want us to leave. I liked what was happening, I liked this. “Go ahead, Ryan. Chase the lead!”

“Alright, alright.” He digs his wallet out of his pocket. “I’ll pay, I’ll get you home, and then we’ll go.”

“Nope,” I push his wallet down. I’ve saved up for this. That’s the whole reason why I chose this place. “Go.”

“Shane, c’mon. I’m not doing this again, you paid last time.” He starts pulling his credit card out of his wallet. I reach across the table and push it back.

“Go do your important work. I got this.” I smile at him as he stands up from the table. Yeah, this is… I guess, _similar_ to the night I got my heart broken, but at least… uh, at least he said I’m important earlier.

“But – “ Ryan tugs his jacket on, “Seriously. Let me at least drive you home.”

There’s nothing I want more than to be driven home. I want to get back in his car and I want to get home as soon as possible so I can watch Shawshank Redemption and probably cry a little bit. But my legs work unlike last time, I’m not crying, I’m in good spirits. I wouldn’t forgive myself. He drives faster when I'm not in the car anyway. 

“It isn’t too far. I could just walk.” Ryan, please _order_ me into your car. Please. I don’t want to walk again.

Ryan scoffs, “Shane – “

“Go on, Mr. Officer. It’s urgent.” Well, I guess I’m being pretty stubborn. I’m feeling some grumpiness build in my chest, I wouldn’t want him to think I’m grumpy at him. I’m mostly grumpy at myself.

Ryan opens his mouth to reply, but just smiles – _kisses me!_ on the _cheek!_ – and leaves. Again.

Maybe he thinks I’m not sensitive because I’m a guy. That might be it. I’ll have to subliminally talk to him about gender stereotyping. Not anytime soon, mind you. Just… eventually. I guess I've seen all those shitty movies where the creepy rich guy is like "I want that woman!" and she's like "I have things to do too!" and he slowly buys her things and learns more about her and suddenly they're driving off into the sunset. I'd like a little coaxing. Those movies are usually creepy, though. And I'm not even playing _hard to get,_ whatever that means. 

I pay, and I start to walk home.

I know I should be happier than I am, I just had a great dinner with Ryan. And _I’m_ the one who told him to go, so I can’t be mad about that. It’s just… I feel terrible. If a man goes to jail for life because he happened to lose his wallet in the worst place imaginable, I’ll never forgive myself.

I kick a pebble across the sidewalk. I must be ten minutes into a twenty-minute walk when I hear something rustle in the bushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hate to leave you on a cliff hanger but it eez what it eez
> 
> hope you're doing well ! i may not update for a day or so while i write the next few chapters but i really can't wait to get there!!!!!! but i also might get impatient and post anyway. i never listen to myself!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go. buckle up. strap in.

I look in the direction of the noise. A shadow steps out from the wall of bushes that towers over the right side of the pavement – a man. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know what’s on the other side of this wall, but he’s standing in front of me now. I look up at him. I look _up_ at him – he’s taller than me. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone taller than me. The confusion in my head fuzzes the words he says to me.

“You have anything?” He says.

It’s dark. I’m trying to remember. I don’t know this guy. I’d remember someone taller than me. What does he mean, _do I have anything?_

“Uh,” I say. “What? Sorry – what?”

“Money.” His hands are fists on either side of his torso. “You got money?”

“Not really,” I say. I look around. No one else is here. It must be eleven at night at this point. “I just got back from dinner. Sorry I can’t help you out.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t raise a hand and say, _thanks for your time._ He’s blocking the sidewalk. “Can I see?”

“Uh.” I mean, I didn’t lie. So I reach my hand into my pocket and drag my wallet out. At this point, I’m starting to get nervous. I open the empty section of the wallet, facing him. He stares at it. “See? All cleaned out.”

“Credit card.”

“Don’t have one of those either.” I can’t see him very well. The next street light is a few feet away, so we’re both mostly shadows. I don’t think this is an accident. When I was a monster, I always picked more abandoned places. This isn’t really abandoned, it’s just dark. It’s risky. “I’m really sorry, man. I hope you get what you’re looking for.”

“Give it to me.”

Okay. Okay, _now_ this is serious. Right? I think I’m getting mugged. Right? I need to take this seriously. I need to think about this. I just need to do what he needs me to do.

“Okay, man.” I hold the wallet out. He snatches it from my fingers. I hold my hands up. Trying to surrender.

“Nothing in here,” he says. A man of few words.

“Yeah, I didn’t plan on letting anyone borrow it.” _Shane, seriously. Take this seriously. Please_. I just can’t help it. I want to get home.

He pockets it anyway. Maybe Ryan can help me get a new driver’s license. I know he’s a detective, but maybe he has friends at the DMV. I don’t know. There are more important things to worry about.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

I blink. Did I hear him right? “W-what?”

“You got a boyfriend, right?”

Does he mean Ryan? No, he can’t. It’s probably just an assumption. I look down at myself. I mean, it’s not a particularly gay ensemble. I just chose a white button-up today – maybe it’s because I have the first couple buttons unbuttoned? That’s quite an assumption to make, sir.

“Yeah?” I say. I probably shouldn’t have.

“Where is he?” Should I be memorizing details? Should I call the police?

“Oh. Uh.” What’s the right answer? Is this a riddle? “Uh. At work.”

I should have said he was on his way. I should have said he was bringing the car around. I should have said anything but that.

He grabs me by my throat, pressing me back into the wall of bushes he emerged from. I stumble backward. The branches are poking the back of my head. I don’t know what to do. What do I do? I reach behind my back, trying to grab for the gun that isn’t there. Fuck.

I'm grasping at his forearms, trying to pull his hands away. It does nothing. In fact, I think it makes it worse. Before, I could still breathe. He tightens his fingers, his palms, pressing into my throat, and suddenly, I can’t breathe at all.

In all those times I did those terrible things to other people, I never got hurt. I don't think I've ever been hurt in my life, save for a broken arm or a sprained ankle. Never something like this. And my throat is burning, desperately trying to get air into me, and I'm starting to worry that I'm about to die. Am I about to die? Oh my God. Is this karma? I’ve never believed in karma. I’ve never believed in anything.

"Please," I say - the words don't sound like words, just airy noises - "I need to call someone."

He doesn’t answer. He squeezes tighter. I feel like my head might pop off.

This is taking a long time. I let my arms fall, trying to blindly grab for my phone to call Ryan – I’d like to hear his voice again - but my hand brushes something cold on his waist. My vision is going. I feel something _pop_ in my head. Something just happened. Anatomically, that can’t be good. I reach for the cold object, tugging it free. I outline its shape with my shaky fingers. Keys.

Before I can even form a thought, before I can think _I’m going to die_ another time, I take the keys in my hand and jab blindly in front of me. I feel his hands let up, hear his shoes shuffle backward slightly. I try to blink the blurriness from my eyes. It takes a few moments.

When I can see again, I see him clutching at his neck. I grip his keys in my hand. I realize that they’re wet. Holy shit.

I didn’t think that was going to do anything, but I’d hoped. He stands for a long time, staring at me with wide eyes, blood pouring out of the wound. I think I hit a major... something. That seems like a lot of blood. But he's not going down.

He lunges out of me again. He isn't dead. Why isn't he dead? Why isn't he gone?! He's still incredibly strong, grabbing at my arms and trying to knock his keys out of my hand. I stab again blindly as he grabs for my face.

I should have let Ryan drive me home, but I didn't because I wanted to be cool and I'm not cool and now I'm stabbing a man to death and he's gasping at me and now I'm wrapping my arms around his neck and I'm strangling him I think - I _think_ I'm strangling him, I can feel the blood seeping into my sleeves and I'm crying and I'm saying _sorry_ over and over again because I really am.

Not to this guy, obviously. He's the worst. But to Ryan - I'm sorry, Ryan. I hope this doesn't turn into a difficult job for you.

Despite popular belief, I've never actually killed someone. I've just... pulled a trigger and what happened, happened. Eh. I take that back. I’m not thinking clearly. I know they _died_ , I know that I _technically_ killed them. But it was easy. I never got a drop of blood on me before, and now I'm drowning in it.

I sniffle as I retrieve my wallet from his front pocket. Then I take off. I’m close to home. I’m sprinting, still stumbling because my head is still swimming. I’m still not in perfect shape after my near-death experience, my feet catching on each other as I run and my throat seizing in pain with every step and my eyes aching. I’m still trying to blink the stars from my eyes. I should call Ryan. I should call him – but I’m covered in blood. It’s starting to cement into my sleeves. The blood on my hands is still wet. I don’t know if it’ll ever dry.

The neighborhood is on a hill. All the old people are asleep by now, so I don’t think I have to worry about that. I’m trying not to cry. I killed someone again. I said I wouldn’t but I did. I probably should have just let it happen, gone out with morality on my side. God. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I’m starting to get tired halfway up the hill. The adrenaline is wearing off. Now it’s just me. And _just me_ is incredibly weak.

I make it to the back porch somehow. I haven’t run for more than a second since high school. I think I blacked out at some point on the trip.

I try the doorknob. Locked. My hands are too weak to grasp things. I brush my hand down the front of my pants, trying to locate my keys. I must pat my pockets five times over before I remember I didn’t bring my keys. I think the main lesson here is that I need to let Ryan drive me home from now on.

If I may be candid with you, I have never broken down a door. I don’t think I could do so if I was in an actually healthy condition. I’m still dizzy. I want to sleep so bad. I want to sleep for a year. But I need to shower. I need to call Ryan. I need to do so much before I can sleep.

I don’t have a glass panel to break like the guards do to get to Dufresne in the record player scene in Shawshank. Just a slab of wood. I think it’s cheap wood. It looks easy to break. I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.

I don’t want to throw my body against the door. That seems like a recipe for disaster. I think they… they kick doors, right? That’s what they do in Waco, I think. I can’t think.

My feet stumble over themselves as I try to balance myself. I hear Lucy start barking – no, she’s, like, screaming. It’s incredibly loud. She probably thinks I’m a burglar. That’s a good girl. I wish she knew it was just me.

She really is losing it. I’ve never heard her sound so feral. I guess it’s a good thing to know, that she’s a perfect guard dog.

“It’s me,” I try to say, but my voice is almost dead. My throat is raw. I hope nothing’s wrong. I hope he didn’t do any permanent damage. “Lucy. Hush, it’s me.” She can’t hear me. “Get away from the door.”

I rear back and kick. I kick the middle of the door as hard as I can. It does nothing. Lucy barks louder. I just need to get inside and then I’ll hug her and make sure she’s alright. It takes about five blows to crack the door beside the knob, another five to get the knob loose. I want to be proud of myself. I can taste blood in my mouth. I can feel it cracking on my arms.

I’ve almost got it when I hear a voice, just barely audible over Lucy’s noise: _“Santa Monica Police!”_

Oh, _shit._ It sounds gruff and unfamiliar. I kick faster. Harder. I need to get inside. I need to clean up. It’s hard to breathe. I need to –

The door gives, slamming open. Lucy is standing there, mid-bark, when she sees me. She moves to jump on me but I hold my hand out.

“Stay,” I say as quietly and firmly as I can manage. She does, looking at me with those wide eyes. All traces of malice are gone. She’s just Lucy.

I almost smile. I almost say, _Oh, Luce, you will not believe the day I’m having._

Then I hear the front door smash into the wall beside it.

I stay in place, holding my hands above my head. They’re covered in blood, so dense I can barely bend my fingers. God, this is going to be embarrassing. I hope they let me call Ryan. I hope they let me wash my hands. Will they let me change clothes?

I squint through the dark. I can see the man’s outline in the front doorway, silhouette traced with light from the street. I want to turn a light on but the man might think I’m reaching for a weapon. But, I mean, I can’t blame him. I’m soaked in evidence. My eyes hurt.

Right as I think that, the room is flooded with light. I cover my eyes with my arm – still doused in blood, probably smudging it over my face. I keep my other arm up. I don’t want to die right now. I’ve already escaped once.

“Hands above your – “

I gulp for air.

The voice goes quiet.

I pause.

I replay the voice in my head.

I know that voice.

I drop my arm to my side. I groan at the jolt of pain that runs through my body. And then I see him.

“What…. The fuck,” Ryan whispers at me. Lucy makes a low groan and walks out of the room - like she's saying, _you're fucked._ "What the fuck!!!!" He doesn't move. He just stands there in the doorway, gesturing at me with open palms, "SHANE, WHAT THE FUCK! WHOSE BLOOD IS THAT!"

“Would it make you feel better if I said it wasn't mine?” I croak, panting. I hide my hands behind my back as if he hasn't seen them already. My Ryan objectives are toast. What do I do. What do I do. Fuck. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for air at this point, pinned down by Ryan’s wide-eyed stare.

"WHAT THE FUCK."

I try to speak again, "Will you please calm down, I’m hurt - "

"SHANE."

"Ryan, please!" My voice is squeaky and nearly incomprehensible I rub the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand. I know I'm smearing more blood on my face but there's blood everywhere on me right now. Ryan is frozen, looking over my body like I’m a monster. "I'm… _tired_ and… I'm _scared_ and please don't leave." The words are airy.

" _You're_ scared," Ryan says, his voice coming down from a scream. He closes the front door with his foot despite the hinge being askew from his heroic break-in. " _You're_ fucking scared?! You're covered in blood! _I'm_ fucking scared, Shane, you're a… Jesus, you’re a fucking… _murderer_ , I can’t - "

"Yeah, I know that." I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to cry so bad but I don't want Ryan to see me like this. I know he’s distracted, but I think I need medical attention. I guess that doesn’t matter, though. He won’t give me medical attention. He won’t give me anything anymore. “I need to take a shower.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me. Like I’m an animal, like he came here to see someone he cares about and instead it’s _just_ me. I’m nothing. I clear my throat. It aches. I wince, putting my hand up to my throat. It feels the same. It isn’t noticeably crushed.

“I’m sorry,” I try to continue. I want to explain so much, but it’s becoming clear that communication isn’t my strong suit right now. “I’m trying to be… be better, but something happened, and… I’m… I’m so tired, Ryan.” I feel the hot tears on my face. My throat contracts, trying to cry, but it just hurts so bad. Every time I swallow, it feels like something’s in the way. “You… you can arrest me, I just…” I think I need to go to a hospital. “I need to take a shower.”

He opens his mouth to say something. He closes it back and just nods once. Then he turns around, running a hand through his hair like he’s not able to even look at me anymore. I’m surprised he’s even given me this luxury. I was sure he’d call his buddies down at the station and lock me up for life. Maybe that comes afterwards.

I limp to the bathroom. I must have fucked up my foot when I was kicking the door. I didn’t notice until now. Two adrenaline rushes in one day. How lucky am I?

I don’t bother to close the bathroom door all the way before I start peeling my clothes off. The noise they make as the fabric sticks to the blood caked onto my skin is unbearable. I’m making pitiful noises as I undress myself, like a stupid kid. I wait for the water to turn warm, leaning against the bathroom sink with my back to the mirror. I don’t want to see myself. I don’t want to see myself _ever_ again.

It takes a long time to scrub the red from my skin. I worry for a moment that it may be here forever. But I use my nails and scrub with my palms until my skin burns. It works eventually.

There are so many things zooming around in my head, so many questions about the future and hypotheticals about what could have happened. I’m lucky he didn’t have a knife or a gun – I’d be dead for sure. But I’d be dead – I wouldn’t have killed him, and Ryan wouldn’t be on the phone with his friends telling them to come to arrest me. They know me, at this point. They know my name. They’d be so disappointed, so disgusted. I feel that way about myself too.

I reach down to turn the water off. As soon as silence settles, save for a few water droplets falling from the showerhead, I hear the door hinges creak. Fuck.

“Shane?” I hear Ryan’s voice.

I reach a hand out – I’m still shaking, will I ever be steady again? – from the curtain and grab my towel, bringing it back into the shower with me.

“Hey,” I say. I sound like I’ve never spoken before. I wonder if I’ll speak normally again, too.

“Um…” I see his shadow moving through the white shower curtain. He sits down on the toilet seat. “So. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

What is happening right now? I try to lift my arms over my head to dry my hair, but my throat seems to have other ideas. I settle for drying my arms and wrapping the towel around my waist. I don’t know what to do now. I want to get out and get changed, but Ryan’s in here.

“S’fine,” says the frog living in my throat. “I understand.”

“I just… um.” Ryan’s shadow moves slightly. I’m staring intently at it. I can’t see him holding a gun at me. “I was driving by, and since my window’s fucked, I… heard Lucy barking. Thought someone might have been breaking in.”

“I forgot my keys.” I lean against the shower wall. I close my eyes. I don’t want to go to jail. I know I deserve it. I can’t leave Lucy alone.

“Ah,” says Ryan’s shadow. He clears his throat. “So.”

I’m starting to get cold. My hair is still soaking wet, running down my back. It’s _my_ bathroom, I should be able to come and go as I please.

I grip the curtain with a shivering hand, pulling it aside bit by bit. I avoid my reflection. I avoid looking at Ryan. I keep my eyes down.

“Uh, so what – holy shit, Shane.” Ryan stands quickly, so quick it makes me flinch. He holds a hand out. “Sorry, I just… your neck is…” He takes slow steps to stand in front of me. I keep my eyes down anyways. I can’t do this. I can’t do this – I just need to walk out. I need to put clothes on. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my entire life –

He places his warm hands on either side of my face, so gentle I barely see if they’re there.

“God, what happened?” He whispers. I finally meet his eyes. He looks terrified. “Your eye’s _red,_ Shane. And your neck is – “ He purses his lips. He looks like he’s about to cry? “I couldn’t see because of the… of the blood. What happened?”

It takes a moment for me to find my voice. Ryan is holding my face. I’m almost naked. My eye hurts. My neck hurts. My chest hurts.

“I was walking home.” My voice gives out on _home._ I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get it back. “And this guy…”

“What did he take?” Ryan’s voice is deep when he asks. Upset, maybe? Angry. It makes me feel slightly better.

“Wallet. Got it back.” I put my hand on my towel-covered leg like it’s still here in my front pocket. I look down to the bloody pile of clothes on the floor. It’s a good thing the tiles are black, I can’t see what it’s done to the floor. “I… I killed him, Ryan.”

“I… I know,” Ryan says quietly. He pats my face, touch lighter than air. “And you killed all those other people, didn’t you?”

I try to nod. Hurts.

“Okay,” he says. He nods gently. “Okay.” He doesn’t stop nodding. “Okay, that’s.” Still nodding. “Okay.”

“I was getting better,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. He lets his hands fall. I miss them.

“Please stay.” I crumble at the sound of my own voice. I’m so lonely. He hasn’t left yet, but he’s going to. Because he can’t stand to look at me.

He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

My chest aches even more. I can’t breathe, I’m hurt, I’m alone – and he won’t stay with me? I know… I know I did something _so_ terrible… I… you know, I can’t even rationalize why he should stay. I don’t deserve company. I never have. I should have just let him kill me.

I shouldn’t think that. That’s not helpful.

I stare at him for a while, just standing here in the bathroom. I don’t hear sirens yet. Maybe they didn’t put them on, in case I was being violent or something. But we’re just standing here.

“When are they coming?” I ask. Ryan looks at me funny. “Police. To arrest.”

“They’re not coming, Shane.” His eyes are watery. He takes one of my hands in his. “I didn’t call anyone.”

He’s lying. He has to be. “I need to get dressed for when they get here.”

“Shane, no one is coming to arrest you.”

I pull my hand out of his and limp out of the room. I can hear him follow me. I wipe at my eyes. My left eye must be the one that’s fucked up, it aches when I swipe at it. Crying is making everything worse, as it always does. I’m so weak. My knees buckle as I walk over to my closet. I grab soft things blindly. I just need to be warm. I’m so cold.

It’s hard to get the shirt over my head. I curse under my breath. I wonder how long the pain will last if I never get it checked out. I don’t want to go to a hospital. I want to lay in bed for a year.

“Do you need help?” I hear Ryan ask. He’s standing out in the hallway, I can hear the distance.

“No,” I say. I do need help. But I don’t want him to touch me anymore. “Go ahead n’ leave.” Why is he still here? He’s going to leave eventually anyways.

I finally get it over my head, reaching my arms out blindly to try and locate the sleeves. I don’t know how I’m going to get pants on. I don’t know if I can even bend over.

“Let me help you.” He’s closer, now.

“I need privacy,” I say. Is two months together too early to see each other naked? I don’t know. Probably not, right? I don’t know how this works.

“It’s fine. I won’t look.”

I want to roll my eyes at him but I don’t have the capacity to do so. “I can do it.”

“Okay,” he holds his hands up. He takes a step back. He looks around, putting his back to me. “I’ve never seen your room before.”

I make a noise in response. I don’t know what he’s trying to do. Is he buying time? The police should be here by now. Where are they? I almost fall on my face as I drop the towel, stepping into my pajama pants. I’m willing to wear these pants in a police car. They’re soft. I don’t care about looking put-together anymore.

He turns back around to look at me. He frowns, deep. A complete turn from his mood a few seconds earlier.

“I’m really upset with you, you know.”

This was not what I was expecting. I’m… beginning to suspect that the police actually _aren’t_ coming.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I’m going to need to think about this for a long time.”

I nod through the pain. If only I could hibernate without dying of starvation. I feel like a _long time_ doesn’t mean thirteen days. I have a feeling it means forever. I think when he says _I’m going to need to think about this,_ I think he means, _I’m breaking up with you, you psycho._

I think he’s afraid of me. I get why he would be. I think he’s just being nice to me because he thinks I’d hurt him.

“I’d never hurt you,” I tell him. I know my voice isn’t familiar, but I hope he hears it the way I intended it.

He crosses the room. He puts his hands on my hips again. I look down at him. It’s hard to hold in a sob when you can’t breathe in the first place.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says, and he somehow means it. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m…I’m afraid of _myself_ because this doesn’t change how I feel about you at all.”

This feels like a trick. I’m searching over his face. It’s dark in here, but I still see him.

"Please don't leave me alone," I hear myself say. " _Please_."

He takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

No. “No.” I almost died. “I almost died.”

“You’re safe now.” Am I? He seems to think for a moment. He says, “I solved something,” softly, completely out of the blue.

I don’t move. I wonder where Lucy is.

“I finally… I finally solved something.” He flexes his fingers on my hips. He’s wearing a very sad smile. “I guess I should thank you.”

I want to shake my head, but the pain from my throat is starting to seep into the rest of my body.

“I need to sleep. Please stay.” I allow myself to put my hands on Ryan’s wrists. I squeeze. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll… I’ll be on the couch.”

I don’t want that. I want him _here._ But I can’t justify that. I’m lucky that he’s still here.

“Mm,” I say. He lets me go and I limp over to the bed, lowering myself. Every part of me aches but it feels so good to be off of my feet. I hear him close the door behind him when he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins my favorite dynamic between the boys that i've ever written. i don't know why i like it so much but i do. 
> 
> like, imagine you killed a bunch of people and your police officer boyfriend was just like, "uh, you gotta stop that. i'm upset with you." what a trip. reminds me of when shane said "stop it! stop... serial killing." 
> 
> anyway. i love you.


	11. Chapter 11

The pain wakes me up before anything else.

I don’t open my eyes. If my head weren’t throbbing, or if my throat didn’t feel like sandpaper, I could probably sleep for another decade. But I have things to do, probably.

I feel pressure on my feet. I wriggle my toes. The mass shifts.

“Lucy,” I say. I feel her move again. “Hey.” I hold a hand out blindly, groaning at the aching sensation that accompanies any movement. I feel her crawl up beside me, placing her head in my palm. I scratch the underside of her chin. I’m so glad she decided not to climb onto my back.

I’m laying on my stomach, my head turned to the side. I dread to think how it’s going to feel when I move my position again. My neck has been like this all night. It might be stuck or something.

I must stay like this for five minutes, blindly petting my dog and succumbing to pain, before I hear a soft creak in the corner of my room.

My eyes fly open.

“Good morning,” Ryan says. He looks uncomfortable. It’s not a chair to sit in, it’s the type of chair you just put somewhere to fill space. A small and unremarkable chair.

“How long’ve you been there?” The words are slurred as I speak them. I’m glad to see him. Unless this is a dream. Was he watching me sleep?

“That’s confidential.” He smiles at me. He nods toward the dog currently licking my fingers trying to get me to pet her again. “She wouldn’t let me sleep until I let her in here.”

“That’s my girl,” I say. Lucy’s ears twitch at the noise. The raspiness hasn’t gotten any easier to manage overnight.

“I fed her,” Ryan says quietly. His fingers fidget. “And I, uh, washed the back door and… and the bathroom sink, so there’s no more blood anywhere.”

I try to say _thank you_ , but the words don’t sound quite right. He understands, though.

I slowly move my arms, trying to function again. My palms brace against the bed, prepared to push me up. Well. I _want_ to sit up but I don’t want him to see me struggle. “Uh. Could you get me some water?”

He doesn’t say anything to me for a good few seconds, just staring at me. For a moment, I think he might just say _no._ But he stands and says, “Yep, I’ll be right back,” and disappears out of the room.

I get right to work. First, I try to roll over, which was a lot easier in my head than in practice. Lucy noses at my arm as I try to push myself over. You’d think that guy strangled my arms – why does _everything_ hurt? I think I could manage with just the throat thing, but this is ridiculous.

Before I can try to push through the pain, I hear Ryan curse under his breath as he reenters the room.

“Jesus, Shane, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I can do it.” My voice is soooo fucked.

“No, I’ll – just _stop._ ” I hear a glass clatter against the nightstand. Ryan’s hand is cold as it gently surrounds my wrist that’s currently pushing into the mattress. “I’ll help. Stop doing this, you’re gonna pull something.”

“I’m a grown adult,” I say, though I don’t sound too sure.

“Let me help.” He has his hand on my back, now. Freezing cold. Wait. Where did my shirt go?

“Where did my shirt go?” My lack of a response to Ryan’s offer registers in his brain as consent to slip his arms under me and flip me over like a pancake. I want to scream, it hurts so fucking bad. “ _Fuck_.”

“You were pulling at it in your sleep.” He walks around the bed to the other side where I landed. “Thought you were choking or something so I took it off for you.”

Huh. Seriously, how long was he watching me?

He leans over me, his face almost touching mine. He raises his eyebrows like he’s offering something. Lucy growls at him for a moment but doesn’t carry through.

“What?” I ask, squinting. My ears are ringing. It’s like my very _bones_ are aching.

“Put your arms around my neck, I’ll pull you up.”

“And I was supposed to just _know_ to do that?” My voice cracks at the end. Ryan chuckles softly at me. I _think_ I’m pouting at him. I lift my tired arms and hold on. Then, I’m upright. My head is swimming. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he says, pulling my arms away from him. He sits on the edge of the bed – not unlike how he sat on the chair with me when he first kissed me. I wonder if he’s ever going to kiss me again. Ryan reaches a tentative hand out and touches my collarbone, wincing. (How does he think _I_ feel?) “Jesus, Shane. The bruising is getting worse.”

I don’t know what to say. Sorry? Should I apologize? “Sorry.”

Ryan makes a face. “About what?”

“Take your pick.” I’m really sorry about everything, to be honest. I’m sorry for walking past his every day on purpose to try and befriend him, I’m sorry for falling in love with him the first time I saw him. I’m sorry for hurting those people. I’m sorry that he has to look at me right now. I’m sorry he had to get me water. I’m sorry that guy didn’t kill me. I can’t really say any of those, I guess.

Ryan hums. He stands and walks back to the chair in the corner. I wish he’d have stayed over here. He leans over to pick up something from the ground as he sits – a pen and a notebook. For what?

He clears his throat, crossing his leg over his lap and using it as a desk. “We need to go down to the station in a little while, but I’d like to talk to you first.”

I blink. “The station?”

“We need to fill out a report about your assault,” he says. He draws a long line across the top of the paper, not looking at me. “We’ve already waited too long, but you were in too bad a state to go last night.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“And… and this talk is just for me.” He holds the notebook up. “I’m not… I just need you to help me understand some things… uh, for _my_ sake. So, don’t… don’t think I’m gonna tell anyone.”

“Right.” He’s going to take notes. That’s kinda cute.

Ryan scrubs a hand over his face. He leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on his leg as he slowly meets my eyes. “I’m going to ask you a question, Shane.”

I don’t like this at all. “Yeah?”

“Did you…” He lets out a long sigh. I feel like I’m in a therapy session where my therapist is angry at me. Maybe I should see a therapist. Would that help me? “Okay, I can’t believe I have to ask this right now. But… did his attempt to strangle you start before or after you began to…”

I don’t know what he’s asking at first. He doesn’t finish the question because he thinks I _do_ understand. I can see it in his face. His lips are pursed like he’s keeping the rest of his words to himself. So I try to figure out what he’s asking. And when it registers… I can’t help but feel a little bit upset.

All those other times, I made a _conscious_ choice to take someone’s life. But I’ve been trying to get better, and a couple months ago I fucked up and I took another, but I recognized my mistake and I was on the right path again.

He’s asking if the guy tried to strangle me in self-defense. He’s asking if I tried to hurt him first. But why?

“Why would you even ask that?” I say before my brain can filter my thought. 

Ryan clicks his pen. I see some sort of emotion ripple across his features. “I’m sorry.”

I tangle my fingers in the blanket, grabbing the glass of water Ryan brought with my free hand. I take a sip. It’s difficult to get down. “I’m done with that, Ryan. I panicked and I made a rash decision.”

“Alright. I’m… I just want to make sure I understand everything.”

I know that the discovery that I’ve done terrible things is difficult to overlook. But I want him over _here._ I want him to comfort me and say that he’s glad I didn’t die. I don’t think it’s registering to him that I almost died. Or maybe it is, and it isn’t as important to him. I refuse to believe that.

“Why are you being all detective-y with me?” I grip the glass tight, though I ease up my grip as my arm fills with lava.

“What do you mean?” He knows what I mean. Little shit.

“You’re my _boyfriend –_ “ (I say ‘boyfriend’ all quiet-like because I don’t know if he wants to be called that.) “ – not some random suspect.” I set the glass on the nightstand before I hurt myself trying to keep it in my grip.

“You’re not a suspect anymore, you’re a culprit. _The_ culprit, even.”

I press my lips together. That’s not the response I wanted. My eye is still aching yet I feel tears coming anyway. I look to the wall on the opposite of the room, where Ryan isn’t. I take a deep breath. My lungs stutter and my throat aches. I cross my arms over my chest. I’m really trying to get the _I’m mad at you_ body language down.

“Sorry,” he says, just as I planned. “I just.” I can hear him take a deep breath through his nose. “I know you’re different, but I have to stay objective right now.”

For what reason? We’re all alone.

“Okay.” I carefully turn my head to look at him again. It’s like he’s put a mask over his normal face. I don’t recognize him like this.

“Why did you kill those people in Foster City?” His pen is poised to write.

I shrug, immediately regretting it. I clutch my shoulder, wincing. “Wanted to know what it felt like.”

Officer-Ryan doesn’t seem pleased with that answer. He doesn’t write my words down.

“… Alright. Uh, I was riding the bus home from my friend’s house, and I saw this guy.” I was in the back with my head against the window, and he sat facing me. “He was texting someone really _angrily._ And I don’t know why, but I’d been thinking a lot about how fragile mortality is around that time.”

He starts writing now. Just a few lines, certainly not word-for-word. He doesn’t nod or anything. A Ryan statue.

“And I realized that anyone could be in control of anything as long as they think they can be,” I say, which I don’t believe anymore _obviously_. I press the back of my cold hand to my warm neck. “So I followed him off.”

“It was that simple?”

“At the time, yeah.”

“And why were you carrying a weapon on the bus with you?”

Lucy sighs, irritated by the lack of attention being paid, jumping from the bed and wandering out of the room. I wish I could do that too.

“I was going to throw it away,” I let my hand fall into my lap. “That was the plan. I’d had it since college.”

“You had a gun in college.”

“Yeah, I, uh, stole it from an old bully’s house. Just to get him, you know?”

Ryan shakes his head. I wish we could go back to the way things were. Like, maybe back to when he made me brownies. I liked that dynamic.

“So, you chose a random man to kill on the bus,” Ryan says, underlining something. “Okay, so… okay, that explains the first murder. What about the other two?”

“Same thing,” I say. I’m not proud of this. I wasn’t at the time and I’m still not.

Ryan doesn’t seem to buy that. I get why. “You killed three _random_ people.”

“Yes.” Well. Five, now. But he already knows that.

“No connection between them whatsoever.”

“Yes.” It’s true. “Well, technically the connection between them is me. But that’s it.”

“I don’t get how that works,” Ryan says. He squints at me. I squint back. He holds in a laugh. I take it as a victory. “I mean. There’s _no_ connection?”

“Yeah. I, uh, _succumbed to intrusive thinking_ a few times.” I heard that on TV once. “Wasn’t always on the bus, wasn’t always in my neighborhood. I don’t know. It wasn’t something I had _fun_ doing, it was just… like, my brain would say _you could kill him right now_ , and then I’d do it.”

“Could you stop yourself if you wanted?” His voice is deeper, now. “You say _you’d do it,_ but are you… were you capable of stopping yourself?” He’s asking if I have self-control. Of course I do. I killed three people in twenty days. I’ve slowed that down to two people in four months. And I’ll never do it again.

“Of course I could. And I have. I was _going_ to until the guy…” I don’t finish the sentence. I sigh, “There’s no connection, no. Some would say they were all coincidences.”

He leans back in his chair, clicking his pen closed. He studies me. I think I can see the detective slip from his eyes. “No wonder I couldn’t solve it, you’re a fuckin’ enigma.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

He sinks lower in the chair, uncrossing his legs. Suddenly, he’s Ryan again. I watch it happen, the transformation – I think the main change is the eyes. “Last night. You said you were getting better. I was kind of freaking out so I didn’t get to ask what that meant.” He pushes the paper and pen off of his lap and into the floor. He seems done with that. “I’m done with that.” Good.

To be honest, I didn’t think he heard half of what I was saying last night. I think, once I realized this, I just started saying whatever I was thinking. I mean, he was just repeating _okay_ over and over, I thought he was gonna forget. I guess that didn’t make a lot of sense. “Oh.”

“Getting better,” he repeats, waiting for my explanation.

“Oh. I’ve been working on controlling myself.” He doesn’t make a doubtful face at me, which I half-expected. “It probably doesn’t show right now, but. I don’t want to do that anymore, so I’m… uh, rehabilitating. I guess.”

He rests his head in his hand. He’s almost laying down, his legs straight out in front of him. I hope he slept last night. He kinda looks like I did when I was crying in the diner. “Huh. What changed?”

“Hm.” I lean back against the headboard. It’s cold against my back. I feel more comfortable when he isn’t writing things down. I think he feels the same. “Well, I met you.”

Ryan’s eyebrows raise.

“I mean, I was gonna stop after the third one. For sure. Just to make that clear.” I hold a hand out, a _believe me_ gesture that Ryan seems to appreciate. “I moved here to clear my head and start over. But things happened.”

Ryan’s smile is back. I swear, it’s like he just pulled a mask off out of nowhere and he’s familiar again. It should probably be worrying to me, but I’m just glad that we’re inching toward normality again.

“Wasn’t it hard, though?” He scratches his chin. “I mean, didn’t you have trouble hiding it from your friends? From your family?” Oh, Ryan. “That’s where most people fuck it up. But you were like a shadow.”

“Ah.” I reach for the glass of water. It’s just barely in my reach. “Well. I didn’t have to worry about that.”

Ryan blinks. “What does that mean?”

What does he think that means? Oh. I didn’t _kill_ my family. Jesus, Ryan. “No – I mean, I don’t have friends and I haven’t talked to my family in a decade or so.”

His mouth is agape. We’ve talked about this before – I thought he knew I didn’t have friends. “I thought you were exaggerating about being a loner.”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘P.’ I take a long swig of water. It’s still cold and soothing as it goes down my throat. “I think I could have benefitted from some friends. I’d have other things to do.”

Ryan snorts. He covers his mouth with his hand. He’s still so fucking far away. “So I put you on the right track, huh?”

“Yessir.” See? All it took was Ryan’s smile to distract me from the immense pain I feel. I almost forgot I had it until I shifted just now. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stand any time soon. “Moment I saw you, I chose what kind of life I wanted. Even if I fucked it a few times.”

“I’m hesitant to be flattered because, truth be told, you did fuck up quite a bit.” Ryan slowly brings himself to sit up again. He looks down at the notebook he knocked on the floor. His hands settle in his lap, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. His eyes find mine again. “You know, it’s going to be difficult to go back to normal after this.”

I know. God, do I know it. “That’s okay.” I chew the inside of my cheek, resting the glass on my chest to give my arm a rest. “Do… are we going to have to start over?”

“Start over?”

“Like.” I can feel my heartbeat in my forehead. I don’t know what that means. “Us. Are we…”

Ryan shrugs. He seems to wrestle with the question, which makes me nervous. “This is hard, Shane.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to break a lot of rules for you, and I…” His fingers card through his own hair. “I can’t even bring myself to feel guilty about it. I mean, I’ve always been critical of the police force due to their _consistent_ bending of laws and regulations, but… here I am.”

I’m not going to say it, but this is very romantic. An unconventional and incredibly terrifying sort of romantic. But I’m relieved. I keep my mouth closed. I have nothing beneficial to say.

“So,” he continues. He stands up from the chair and I anticipate the pain I’m going to feel when he helps me do the same. “We’ll go fill out a report because that’s what normal people do when they get mugged. And my job is to help with stuff like that. And, if this were normal, I’d want to find the guy who did this to you as soon as possible, so.”

“Hm,” I say. That sounds like a lot of movement.

“I’ll help you,” he assures me. He’s still just standing over there, miles away. “I just need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I croak.

“No more,” he says. He’s got his detective mask half-on. He’s a finger point away from scolding me. “Okay?”

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore,” I promise. I try to hold up a pinky but Ryan just rolls his eyes and walks over to help me up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get yourself a significant other who breaks their moral code for you, am i right??
> 
> i'm so excited for you to read the next few chapters i've written. i don't know why i'm so hyper and excited about this story, but i am. i hope you're well!


	12. Chapter 12

It takes an embarrassingly long time to get me settled in the car. Ryan is somehow forgiving.

I had trouble buttoning my shirt which was incredibly embarrassing. I got my pants on just fine, but it took me twenty minutes to even get the first button together. Even sitting down on my bed, focusing my full concentration on getting the fucking button in the stupid thingy, I was helpless. Eventually, I just gave up and walked out into the living room and asked for help.

Ryan was kind enough to assist. He stood in front of me and buttoned me up, his fingers brushing against my chest as he did so. In complete silence. In my head, I was wondering if he found this as awkward and pitiful as I did. But Ryan just smiled at me.

He even asked me if I needed him to carry me to the car with little to no jest. I _wanted_ him to, but I can’t rationalize allowing that to happen. He helps me buckle in, though. That’s sweet. I consider kissing his cheek when he leans across me to buckle the seatbelt but I’m not sure if that’s acceptable yet.

“I just want to warn you,” Ryan says as he closes the car door, tugging at his seatbelt, “the guys at the station are big fans of yours. They might crowd you a bit when we get there and they see you in…uh, this state.”

They are? “They are?” It means a lot to be talked about positively when I’m not there. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I’ve never known anyone well enough for this to be a possibility. Funny how your dreams come true when you’re in the most turmoil, right?

“Yeah. I told you you’re likable.” He backs out of the driveway without turning around to look, which concerns me a bit. I kind of wanted him to put his hand behind my seat. “They can’t help but talk about you _constantly_. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Huh,” I say. I settle into my seat, looking out the window. My eyes are watering from the pain. I hope I get over this soon. “So. We’re just filling out a report, and then we’re done?”

“That’s certainly the main thing,” Ryan says, glancing over at me. “I’ll help you through it. I’ll fill out the form for you, we’ll go to my office and get everything together.”

“Okay,” I say.

“I’ll probably get a medic to check you out,” he says quietly. He doesn’t look at me. “Just make sure everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” I say in my voice that doesn’t quite sound like me yet. I don’t want to get checked out. What if something’s wrong? Like _really_ wrong.

“I’m sure it is. You’re the luckiest person I’ve ever met, so.” He smiles after saying that, like the stuff I get lucky about isn’t the most morbid thing on the planet. “But I need to make sure. It’s more for me than it is for you.”

Aw. He wants me to be okay. “That’s nice.” I’m still confused by this whole situation, but I can’t imagine how he feels. “I’m sorry.”

“No need.” He holds a hand out. I stare at it. What is he doing? What am I supposed to do? It lands on my leg for a moment. Oh. “We’re going to figure this out.” His thumb flexes on my thigh before he retreats to his side of the car.

It’s like he’s talking about a minor rescheduling incident. I don’t know how that makes me feel. So far, it feels like there’s a very real chance that Ryan is going to stay with me. He’s still compassionate, he’s still kind to me. I guess I worry that he’ll wake up at some point and realize what I’ve done as if his job hasn’t been surrounded by tragedy for the last few years. As if he didn’t know murder was a thing until he saw me covered in evidence. This isn’t the case, I know that – and yet.

“Um,” I mutter. I can barely manage to turn and look at him. I see the station building over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“Everything.” I realize that’s vague. But I mean it.

He pulls into a parking space before he answers me. He slumps in the seat, pulling the keys from the ignition. He doesn’t know if he’s sure. That’s why. I can see the question knocking around in his brain. Instead of answering, Ryan unbuckles and stands from the car. Not sure if that’s an answer or not, actually. Maybe that’s all the answer I need.

When he comes around the side of the car, I try to flatten myself against the seat to get out of his way so he can unclip me, but instead he pauses in front of me. He says, “I’ve chosen you,” as if that makes any sense, and kisses me. I close my eyes. I hear the seatbelt click, feel it grow slack across my waist. This one lasts longer than last time, I’m thankful for that. But I’m confused. When he lets me go, he finally says, “I’m on your side. I’m sure.”

I let out a sigh. I’ve been holding my breath for a while, apparently. I look at him, searching for some sort of doubt, but it’s all genuine from what I can see. That’s a relief.

“Okay,” I say. A groan is ripped from my throat as Ryan helps me up. My knees buckle as I stand but I maintain my balance. Ryan takes my hand just in case. I hope he doesn’t drop it. The sun is reflecting off of the white lines on the asphalt, directing the wrath of the sun right into my eyes. “Thanks.”

As Ryan walks me to the door, he keeps telling me to _let him do the talking_ and that _he’ll help me_ and _it’s going to be okay._ I’ve never trusted someone more. Maybe it’s naïve of me. Only time will tell.

Ryan holds the door for me, pushing me forward slightly with a hand on the small of my back. I almost jump at the touch but I walk inside anyway. He’s helping me.

Ryan and I ride the elevator up – I’m glad they finally got it fixed, I don’t think I could brave those stairs today. Ryan leans on the railing, mouth half-frowning.

“Does it feel any better?” Ryan asks, his voice low. I wonder if he’s going to go all detective-y again. I hope not.

“I guess,” I offer. “It doesn’t feel _good_ , for sure. But I can talk easier.”

“Right, right.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, watching the numbers climb up to _three._ “You sound a little better.”

“Thank God.”

The doors slide open. The two officers leaning on the table closest to the elevator look over. They see Ryan first, smiling and lifting their hands to wave. And then they see me. And they stand.

“What the hell happened?” I hear Officer Mitchell’s voice to my right as we step out onto the tiled floor. I try to turn my head to see him but he walks fast enough where I don’t have to, settling in front of me.

“Hey,” I say softly. The other officers start to crowd around me. I feel a little trapped, but Ryan places his palm on my back. “Got mugged.” There are better ways to say that, I’m sure. But I’m nervous. I’m very nervous.

"Jesus. How long ago did this happen?" Officer Turner has her arms crossed over her chest, leaning toward me. She seems afraid to get to close like she might hurt me if she does.

"Too long," Ryan says, sliding the rest of his arm around my back gently. "Imagine my surprise when I picked him up this morning and saw him all banged up like this!" He looks at me again. I'm trying to figure out if the fondness in his eyes is real or acting. I hope it's real. I wish he'd look at me like this more. I feel very wanted. "I'm just glad he’s okay." I seriously can't tell where the acting stops and sincerity begins.

They all shake their heads with a sad expression. I'm amazed at how well this is going. I’m more surprised about the actual _anger_ that’s registering on some of their faces. Ryan said they’d be upset, but this is beyond that. And Ryan’s being a _spectacular_ actor right now. I think he might be the one to have missed his acting calling.

Ryan clears his throat, “We’re just here to grab a report, maybe get him checked out. Is Lisa here yet?”

“Yeah, I’ll go grab her.” Mitchell claps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and nods toward me before he heads down the hall.

“We’ll be in my office,” Ryan says after him, nudging me forward. We start walking toward the hall. I get a few _feel better, Shane’s_ and _we’ll get this guy’s_ as we pass. I attempt a wave. It’s a little pitiful, but they seem forgiving.

Ryan pushes the right-hand door open, flicking on the light in the hallway as he does so. As soon as the door closes behind us, Ryan slows his pace.

“Okay,” Ryan says, “Lisa’s going to check your injuries out while we fill out the report. She won’t be here for a few minutes, so we can talk about what you’re going to say.”

“Okay.” This feels very official. “Uh. I’m nervous.”

“Me too,” he laughs, pulling his keys out of his pocket, leafing through them to find his office key. “I’ve never broken the rules here before.”

“Hm.”

I missed his office. Always so cozy. I half-limp my way over to the chair on the other side of his desk, sinking down into it. I’ve been on my feet for too long.

“So.” Ryan takes his jacket off and drapes it over the chair. He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper. “I’m going to wait until Lisa gets in here to start. She’s the station gossip person, so I need her to relay the information she hears to everyone else.”

I make a face. “But – “

“You’re not going to tell me what _actually_ happened. You’re not going to talk about the murder part.” Ryan rolls his eyes, leaning on his desk. “You’re going to describe a routine mugging. You’re going to picture what the man looked like and describe the opposite. Push the narrative away from the actual occurrence. Make it bland and unremarkable.”

“Okay.” The way he’s talking about this makes it seem like it’s gonna be easy. “Well – how am I… how do I say he stopped? Because the way I got him to stop was – “

“Right.” Ryan runs a hand through his hair. “Right, maybe… hm. You could… how about this.” He stands again, his hand under his chin, “You could place yourself at the bus stop a few blocks down from the restaurant we went to. Um. The bus could have been coming.”

“Okay.” I’m not being very helpful right now. “Okay. Well, it was around eleven.”

“Buses run until two in the morning.”

“Then, sure.” I hope I don’t fuck it up.

Ryan perks up at the sound of the hallway door clunking closed. Kind of like Lucy. “Here she comes.”

He runs around his desk. It’s kind of cute. He looks at me, whispers, “ _Ready?”_ I try to nod. He smiles.

Lisa peers her head into the room. She has a little, transparent-blue plastic briefcase-looking container in her hands. Her eyes are wide, searching for the _guy with the fucked up neck._ She finds me.

“Thanks, Lis,” Ryan says quietly. He looks at her with an expression between Normal Ryan and Detective Ryan. At least he’s still sort of here. “We’re gonna get a report filled out while you do your thing, if that’s alright.”

“Yep. I’ll just need a couple seconds to ask him some questions, and then you can get going.” She smiles at Ryan, and then back at me.

“Sounds good.”

She drags a chair over to sit in front of me. “Hey, Shane. Nice to finally meet you.” She pulls her hair up with a hair tie before unclipping the blue case and pulling out some gloves. “Can you tell me where you’re feeling discomfort? I’m seeing, um, bruising on the neck, and some popped blood vessels in your left eye. Is that all?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

She nods, securing the gloves on her hands “Okay, I’m going to sort of manipulate your neck and head to try and identify the damage. You just tell me if or when it gets unbearable.”

It’s already unbearable, but okay! She takes her cold hands and gently presses her fingers into the area around my collarbones. This is weird.

“Alright, Shane,” Ryan says quietly. I meet his eyes. “Can you describe the events leading up to your attack for me?”

Lisa begins to walk her hands up my neck. This feels very intimate. No unbearable pain yet. “Um. You and I went to dinner and… um, you had to go to the office, so I said I’d pay and walk home.”

Ryan hums. He squints at the words. I can tell he’s wondering why he let me do that. I’m also wondering that. “Okay, and then?”

“I paid, I started walking home.” I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. Where did Ryan want me to say I was? Oh. “I was near a bus stop by the restaurant. I wasn’t really doing anything. I was just going home.”

Ryan is writing fast. I’ve never paid attention to his handwriting. I wish I had. It’s all I can focus on right now.

Lisa retrieves her hands. “No pain?”

“There’s pain. Lots. But not unbearable.”

“Ah,” she says. “Well, now, I’m going to shift your head a bit and I want you to let me know when you can’t go any further.”

I make an agreeable noise. She frames my face with her fingers and begins to slowly turn my head. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Ryan dots an ‘I’ somewhere. “Could you describe the person who attacked you, Shane?”

I can see him in my head. He was fucking huge. How did I overpower him? “Uh…” I blink. This chair is sort of uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s because Lisa’s slowly turning my head and it’s the worst. “He was a few inches… shorter than me. And his face was sort of… round… and his shoulders were thin.”

Ryan nods. Lisa has her back to him, so he gives me a small thumbs-up without making eye contact. “Okay. Could you identify what he was wearing?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He was wearing a green shirt, I think. “I wasn’t paying attention and it was pretty dark.”

“That’s okay,” Ryan puts something in parentheses. “Thank you.”

Lisa is starting to get into dangerous territory. I feel a jolt of pain through my throat. “Ow,” I say, though it sounds like a whimper.

“Got it,” she says, beginning to shift the other way.

“Now, Shane, feel free to let me know if you begin to feel overwhelmed.” Ryan clicks his pen a few times. “But can you describe the event as best you can?”

“Yeah, that’s. I can do that.”

I know this is protocol. I know that there’s a woman I’ve never met before turning my head ever so slowly to test how capable my neck is. I’m not having a hard time recalling events or managing my emotions right now. I mean, sure, I remember the way he wrapped his hands around my neck. That’s not scary. Sure, I remember how he squeezed and I felt parts of my anatomy physically shift. I remember thinking I was gonna die without ever seeing Ryan again. Not overwhelming at all. Right?

Lisa pushes too far and I grunt. She apologizes and I attempt to say something like _no problem._ She starts moving my head down. I keep my eyes on Ryan. I probably look pretty ridiculous.

Ryan looks at me. He isn’t mad.

I take a deep breath, “Uh. I was walking on the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets, not really paying attention, and then he was standing in front of me.”

He hums as he writes.

“And he… ow,” I look at Lisa. She nods, moving my head upwards. “He asked if I had anything, and I said I didn’t. And he asked to see if I had cash, which I didn’t since I just paid for dinner – “

Ryan looks up at me quickly. I can’t read his expression. The detective mask is in the fucking way again. I continue anyway.

“ – so I showed him my empty wallet. So he asked about a credit card, which I didn’t have. And… uh…” I lean back and away from Lisa’s hands. She nods again and bends over to grab her blue case. I don’t want her touching me right now. “And then he told me to give him my wallet.”

I watch Lisa bring out a tiny flashlight. She clicks it and puts her thumb under my left eye, opening it wider and shining the light _into_ my eye – which hurts. I wince. She clicks it off again, turning to pack all of her stuff.

Ryan prompts me with a nod to continue. “Uh… and so I did. And then he asked… where my boyfriend was?”

Ryan rests his head in his hand, stopping the writing altogether. “He asked you where _I_ was?”

“I didn’t know why.” I’m still a bit confused. Then again, when am I not these days? “I thought maybe I just _looked_ like I would have one and it was, like, a dig. I don’t think he knew I was with you in… in particular.”

“Okay…” Ryan writes it down hesitantly.

“And so I said you were at work. And he started... uh, started strangling me, I guess.”

Ryan frowns. Lisa pauses her packing for just a moment, almost freezing in place, before packing up faster. She must be really excited to tell them about this. I don’t know what to think about that.

“Oh, Shane,” Ryan practically whispers.

“I, uh.” My voice is tired. I’ve talked so much already. I’m starting to feel tears well up again. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I feel like crying, it’s just happening. It _keeps happening._ “I tried to get him to stop, like.” I vaguely mime my efforts to drag his hands from my throat. “But he wouldn’t, so I…” I try to clear my throat but it _hurts._ “I told him I needed to call someone.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. I don’t know if he knows I wanted to call him.

“And everything was getting fuzzy, and I felt something, like, _pop_ in my head… but then – “ I stabbed him to death with his own keys. “ – I think he heard the bus start to drive close to us and he let me go.”

Ryan hums.

“And I walked home.” End of story. I wish that was how it ended.

Ryan’s looking at me funny again. He says, “Lisa, how’s he looking?”

“Fine. Luckily, no permanent damage. He’ll be feeling it for a while, though.” She tucks a stray section of hair behind her ears, clearing her throat. “There does seem to be some swelling from what I can feel. Did you do… I don’t know, some sort of exercise today that might have irritated the injury?”

I stabbed a man to death with his own keys. And then I ran a mile or so. And then I kicked in my door.

“Uh.” I feel my eyes close. I pretend like I’m trying to remember. “I went swimming this morning. To, uh, just get out of the house, I guess.”

“Ah,” She nods. “Well, maybe you should take a rest from that for a few days. Just keep still, you know, nothing vigorous.” She stands, “Hope you feel better soon, Shane. Ryan’ll catch the guy for you.” She winks at Ryan before slipping into the hallway.

After a few seconds of silence, Ryan sighs and puts his pen down on the desk. He stands.

“Are we done?” I ask. He walks around the desk to stand next to me. “Did I fuck it?”

Ryan snorts, taking Lisa’s place in the chair in front of me, “No, you didn’t _fuck it_ , you did great.” He knocks his knee against mine gently. “I’m sorry I made you walk home.”

“You didn’t!” My voice cracks, so I try again. “You didn’t. _I_ made me walk home. It was me. All me.”

“I made you _pay_ and I made you _walk home alone._ ” He shakes his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “Shane, I’m sorry.”

“No.” I will not have this. I fucking _killed a man_ that night and he’s sorry for not paying? I don’t care! “It’s okay, Ryan. Really. You had work to do and it was a nice night to walk.”

“I’ve done that twice, now, haven’t I?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!”

“I’ve killed people.”

“And I’m dating you.” Ryan raises his eyebrows, looking like he just did something. “So.”

“You’re right. It’s all your fault and I’ll _never_ forgive you.” I try a smirk. I don’t know how successful my attempt is. “It’s fine, Ryan. I don’t care.” I care a little bit.

The hallway door opens, we both hear it. We hear the rapid clicking of heels on the tile outside.

Suddenly, a red-headed lady is standing in the doorway. She’s looking at Ryan. “I heard Shane was here.” Then she sees me. “Hey – oh, honey!”

She almost runs over to me, kneeling beside me. This must be Ryan’s friend. I remember her voice.

Ryan looks terrified. “Jackie – “

“What the hell _happened??”_ She has her hands on my shoulders, looking me over as if I’ve known her forever. I think I might look fear-stricken. I’m unsure. “Did you get into a bar fight? I didn’t think you were the type to – “

“He got mugged,” Ryan says with a deadpan delivery that makes me wince. Well, now this is awkward.

Her hands tighten on my shoulders. “Jesus _fuck_.”

“Nice to meet you,” I extend a hand. She laughs pretty hard. I take it as a success. She doesn’t shake it.

“Stop crowding him,” Ryan leans forward in his seat and tugs at the back of her shirt. “We just filled out his report and got him checked by Lisa. He’s had enough excitement today. Right, Shane?”

I let my hand fall. She’s not going to shake my hand, that’s fine. “I guess. I do need to get ready for work soon.”

Jackie makes a face at me. “You’re _not_ going to work today. Not in that state.”

“ _Oh!_ Right, I have to call your boss.” He points at me, spinning up and out of his chair to grab his phone. “That’s what I was forgetting. You need to rest.”

Aw, Ryan. Thank you for caring for me. “I… I’m not going to _resist._ ”

“Good.” Ryan aggressively picks up his phone. I think he’s warming up to me again. I like this. I like it when he makes jokes! What can I say, I like a funny man.

Sitting in Ryan’s office while he calls my shift manager to tell her that I need a few weeks off of work makes me feel like a student in elementary school whose principal is calling their parents to come pick him up because he’s sick. Jackie is talking about something but she’s talking so fast I’ve resorted to nod slightly every few seconds and smile at her.

I’m trying to contain my hope, but this is making it difficult. I had no clue it was so easy to construct an alternate reality. I suppose it helps that Ryan can control these things. The simultaneous bad and good luck that I hold is overwhelming. I wonder if it’s overwhelming to him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i've already said this. but for some reason. the fact that ryan's doing everything in his power to keep shane safe... man. love it. 
> 
> thank you for reading!!!! and thank you for 100 kudos!!!!!! i'm always so excited to post. i think i've written for this every day for the past two weeks or so. 
> 
> i'll post some happy stuff soon, by the way, for the folks who aren't comfy with serial killer content. <3


	13. Chapter 13

As Ryan pulls into my driveway, I’m racking my brain trying to figure out what I’m going to do with all of my time now. My routine is ruined again, so I’m going to have to find something else to do that doesn’t require movement. Maybe I can buy a big pool floatie and just kinda… float around all day. But I don’t know how I’d get _out_ of the floatie… damn.

Ryan gets out of the car to let me out. This is expected, he’s a gentleman. He unbuckles me, takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. Again, not surprising. I wait for him to say, _well, I’ll see you tomorrow_ or _I’ll keep in touch_ or something. Instead, he starts walking up to the front door and I find myself following him. I fumble with my keys, still shaking for some reason. Ryan’s hand is on my back. I don’t know when it got there.

I say “I’m gonna take a shower” as soon as I step into the house. I hear Ryan say “alright,” I hear the front door click closed behind me. Ryan doesn’t say anything else, he just walks past me and into the kitchen. I don’t ask what he’s doing.

I close the bathroom door with my hip, already struggling with my shirt. There’s no part of me that wants to ask Ryan to help again, but I’m lucky enough to find that the buttons are easier to undo than do.

The entire time I stand in the shower, attempting to offset the pain by aiming the white hot water at my neck, I try to hype myself up for the empty living room I’ll walk out into. Ryan most likely came in to check for any blood spatter he missed, or to see Lucy before he left again. That’s understandable. I just miss him, I guess. I should have said goodbye before I got in here. This is going to linger in my head for a while.

So imagine my surprise as I step out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist to find Ryan standing in the hallway, looking at me with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hey,” he says with a smile before turning into the living room. As if he is _supposed_ to still be here.

So I figure – _huh, maybe he’s just passing time until he has to go back to work._ I think about that as I get dressed. There is no real reason for me to be so occupied by this, but there’s a genuine concern marinating in me that I need to be careful. Ryan’s done nothing but help me, and I’m still so terrified.

When I walk into the living room and find Ryan sitting on the couch with Lucy sprawled across his lap, I have trouble forming words. This is ideal. I _want_ this, and yet I’m scared of it.

“Hey,” he says, wriggling his way out from under Lucy to stand as well. My hair is still wet. I still can’t manage to get my hands up high enough to dry my head. He brushes his hands off on the front of his pants. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

I squint at him, transferring the glare toward Lucy. She just pants at me. Classic Lucy.

“Fine,” I try to keep my questions in my head. “Uh. Can’t dry my hair though.” I don’t know why that’s what I decided to say. Maybe because the amount of water seeping into the collar of my t-shirt is getting disturbing.

I feel like an idiot for being so nervous. Why would he falsify a police report for me if he didn’t care about me, if he was planning to arrest me anyway? Maybe to gain my trust? But why don’t I believe that?

“Do you need help?” His arms are hanging at his sides, nearly completely still. Like he’s waiting for a cue.

“Uh… I don’t know.” I would give anything for my head not to be wet right now, but I don’t want to ask –

“I’ll help,” he says before I can finish my thought. Oh? He walks past me, taking my hand gently as he does, dragging me back to the bathroom. The steam hasn’t completely dissipated yet. “Where are your towels?”

I open the bathroom closet wordlessly. Where did all of this paranoia come from? It’s drowning me. He’s just helping. Maybe it’s because of the walking home thing. He probably feels bad. Right?

“You’re so fucking tall,” Ryan says under his breath, holding the towel up and letting it unravel. “I don’t think I could reach you if I tried.”

“That’s not true.”

“Just… sit.” He points toward the lip of the bathtub. I do as he says. It takes some time to get comfortable, though. I didn’t know this would be such an operation or I would have kept my mouth shut. Ryan kneels between my legs and drapes the towel over my head. “I’ll be careful. Just let me know if I’m hurting you.”

I hum. I remember the old days when I could throw my towel over my hair and dry with reckless abandon. I can’t do that now, unfortunately. That would be painful. I mean, the things you take for granted when you’re fully functional.

When the towel comes off and I can see again, Ryan immediately starts laughing at me.

“What’s so funny?” I try to keep a straight face, but it’s difficult when his face gets all red like that.

“You look a bit like a porcupine,” he manages to say through his fading chuckles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He flattens his palm against the top of my head, smoothing down my hair. “There you go. Back to normal.”

“Thanks.” I wait for him to stand, but he doesn’t. He wrings the towel in his hands, still in front of me.

“Are you hungry?” Of everything he could have said, this was the last thing I expected.

“Wh… I mean, I guess, but – “

Ryan stands, finally, hooking the towel on the rack beside me before holding his hands out to help me up. This is actually really appreciated, to be honest, because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to do so on my own. “We can look around, see what you’ve got. I’ll make you something.”

“Uhhh.” Very smart, Shane. “Okay.”

After getting dressed, I follow him helplessly around my own house. I lean on the counter as he makes pasta from a box I’ve never seen in my life. I sincerely don’t remember buying that. When was the last time I went to the store?

“Where’s that from?” I ask. I stand over his shoulder, slipping my hands into my pockets. He leans back into me ever-so-slightly. I wish he would always be in front of me so he could do this, it’s amazing. “Don’t remember buying that.”

“Probably because _I_ bought it.” Ryan turns his head to smile at me. I wish I could do that, turn my own fucking head.

“… When?” How long was I in the shower?

“Last night,” he says. I almost consciously think _what happened last night,_ but then I remember. It was only last night? It feels like it’s been weeks. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went and grabbed some groceries.”

“Oh,” I say. Then, “Did you sleep at all?”

He leans over to turn off the burner. My hands go to his hips on some weird instinct. He taps my left hand. I’m not sure if he’s telling me to stop touching him, but I don’t move anyway.

“I had a bit of a nap on the couch,” he says. I don’t believe that. Call it a hunch.

“Huh.” I want to rest my head on his shoulder _sooo_ bad. It just feels like it would be lovely. But I can’t because it hurts.

This does feel sort of natural. Even though I’m actively wondering if I can hold Ryan in this way, it feels like I’m meant to do this. Blegh. It’s so cheesy I can’t stand to think about it for too long.

So I let him do whatever he’s doing and make my way into the living room. Lucy is still deflated on the couch from where Ryan had stopped petting her.

“Hey, pup,” I hear myself say – and I swear to God, I could not pinpoint the moment I started calling her this if I tried to – and fall onto the cushion beside her. She crawls closer to place her head on my lap. Her eyes are always so solemn, even when she’s doing that panting thing where it looks like she’s smiling. I give her a little pet between the eyes before Ryan walks into the living room with two bowls.

“She really loves you,” Ryan says. He sits on the other side of Lucy, a few feet away, handing my food to me. I wonder if he took classes to be the best chef on the planet or if he was just born that way. “Really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog look at a human like she looks at you.”

“It’s the eyes,” I say. I hold the bowl over Lucy’s head, trying to figure out how in the world I’m going to manage to eat this. I decide to nudge her head off of my lap. I can pet her later. Judging by her grunt and the way she jumps off the couch, she doesn’t agree. “I don’t know. I originally got her just to try and normalize everything. I can’t imagine spending a day without her at this point.”

Ryan makes a noise in the back of his throat and shifts to sit closer to me. “That’s sweet, Shane.”

“It’s not _that_ sweet.”

Ryan laughs at that, which I’m grateful for. We eat and mindlessly watch the news. Ryan almost chokes when he inhales to say something, grabbing for the bottle of water on the table. It hurts to laugh, but I do it anyway.

“Sorry, I just – I had a question suddenly,” Ryan puts his bowl down. I cling to mine. I want to eat this for the rest of my life. “Uh. So. Watching the news.”

I hum in acknowledgment, tucking a couple of noodles into my cheek.

“You watch it every day, right?”

I shake my head. “Not anymore.” I cover my mouth with my fingers, trying to keep some semblance of manners. “Used to, though. Religiously.”

“Hm. And did you watch… like, to see what they were saying about you?”

Duh. “I mean, yeah.” I finish the bite before I continue. “Mostly because I was nervous, you know. Actions first, consequences later.”

“Okay…” Ryan nods, tasting that answer. “So, you don’t anymore?”

“I tuned in for a while, just to make sure my attempt at a fresh start wasn’t going to be stopped too soon.” I lean back into the cushions. “But I’m pretty secure, now, I figure.”

“I’d say so.” He turns to face me on the couch, his legs crossed like a basket. “Sorry. I just… I still have so many questions – “

“It’s fine.” He’s saving me in so many ways. I can manage to answer a few questions. “I don’t mind.”

He considers that, resting his left shoulder into the back of the couch. He just looks at me for awhile. I consider saying _what are you looking at?_ But that would be a pretty dumb question. Instead, I decide to ask this absolute _banger_ of a question:

“What… what are you doing here?” As soon as I ask, I come up with several better ways to phrase it.

“What?” Ryan scans me, trying to figure out what I mean.

“I mean. Don’t you have to go back to work, or something?” I don’t want him to, necessarily. Maybe I do. Eh. That’s not true. I don’t know why I’m trying to act like I don’t want him here. I’m just confused why he _is_. “I thought… uh. I just. I’m confused.”

“I took the week off.” Ryan shrugs, resting his face against the cushions. It’s cute, the way his cheek smooshes against the fabric. “I’m still on call, but… uh, there’s lenience.”

“Okay,” I say. Then, “Why?”

“I’m taking care of you?” The inflection makes it sound like a question, like he isn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Oh.” Ohhhhhh. Okay.

No one has _taken care of me_ in years. Never like this. Never with the intention to heal and comfort. Never after the terrible things I’ve done. Something must register on my face before Ryan is standing at attention, his hand on my arm.

“Is that okay? He asks. What, like I’d say no?

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I… yes.” I sound stupid. When is this not the case? “Um. I just. Why?”

Ryan doesn’t seem to be prepared for that question. He shifts for a moment, breaking eye contact to scan across the seams of the couch for a response. “I. Well, I guess… I keep telling myself I'm protecting you because of the mess it would make at the station if my boyfriend were a serial murderer because that's the most logical reason." He brushes a palm across the cushion in front of him, just for something to do. "But I just don't want you in jail. That's it. I want you out here with me."

I can feel my heart rate increase. It’s never done that before, not when I’m standing still. I can literally identify the moment it raises as if it’s on purpose.

“I want to be out here with you too.”

“Good.” Ryan nods. He looks at me again. “That didn’t really answer your question, I guess.” It answered another, bigger question. “Short answer, I’m taking care of you because you’re hurt and I don’t want you to be alone. And _I_ don’t want to be alone. And we’re in a relationship, so it’s, uh, my duty to nurse you back to health. It’s in the rulebook.”

“Oh.” I know he’s trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. I’m being taken _care_ of! Can you believe it? I want to tell him how much it means to me, how honored I feel. I want to tell him so many things. But they would feel out of place. “Thank you.”

Ryan smiles. It’s almost… sad? Almost. He kisses my cheek and takes the remote in his hand. I don’t pay attention to the movie he puts on. I can’t focus on anything except for the feeling of his shoulder pressed against mine.

 _I’m_ getting taken care of. Huh. Who would have thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor baby !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> thanks for reading i love u
> 
> update: as per solshines’ lovely request, here are some videos of olive speaking/being sweet. ((i don’t have a video of olive losing her shit like lucy did in chapter 10 but she’s very uhhhh vocal))
> 
> https://imgur.com/gallery/HMa12v6


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. there are some spoilers for the film "the talented mr. ripley" in this chapter. 
> 
> uhhh i don't think they'll make any real sense out of context, but if you're planning on watching that movie... maybe go watch it and come back. 
> 
> if you're not planning on watching it, then disregard. thank u! i love you!

“I would die for Matt Damon.”

I think it’s been about four days since we filled out the report. An update on my injuries, you say? Well, I wasn’t going to, but… since you asked so nicely.

I can nearly nod without wincing, which is a plus, so I’ve been doing a lot of nodding recently. Ryan’s been around more which means he’s talking about things more which means I get to _listen_ to him more which is ideal. I could listen to Ryan talk for years. But he’d get tired. Anyway.

My eye is the same. At least, I think. I’ve been avoiding mirrors since I don’t have to go outside and, apparently, Ryan doesn’t care if I wear sweatpants. I want to wait until I’m normal-looking again to see myself. Maybe, that way, I can pretend like nothing happened. I mean, I’ll know what happened. But you get it. Ryan says I look better everyday, but that’s what he’s supposed to say.

A quick run over of my ability to function – I can now pull my own t-shirt over my head, thank you very much, but my hands are still pretty shaky so I can’t pour my own drinks or button my shirt all the way. Baby steps, I suppose. I can dry my own hair, finally. That took a few days. And my voice is returning, little by little. It hurts to talk for long periods of time, but I’m too busy listening to Ryan to use my voice most of the time.

What else... oh, and Lucy has gotten braver recently. I don’t know where it came from – she used to be terrified of the pool but, yesterday while I played fetch with her, she kept slowing down as she ran by the pool. Almost like she wanted to jump in. I’ll have to look up how to teach dogs to swim. I have no idea how, but I figure she’d be happy if I did.

Ryan and I have been watching movies every night simply because it’s _fun._ We finished our Indiana Jones marathon last night, and today we went with _The Talented Mr. Ripley._ I hadn’t watched it in a while. It’s odd how well I could apply myself to this film now. Almost eerie. Ryan hasn’t watched it before, but I told him it had Matt Damon in it and he was immediately sold. I feel like maybe I should have given him a brief synopsis. He seems to really like how things are going at this point, and uh… oh, boy.

“I would die for Matt Damon,” Ryan says again as Ripley dances around the screen. He’s said that four times, now.

“Okay,” I say. I can hear my smile in my voice. “Starting to get worried about this, now.”

Ryan snorts. I like when he does that. “Don’t worry. I’d die for you before I die for Matt Damon.” The movie immediately disrupts the sentiment. He grabs my arm when Dickie (played by Jude Law, but you already know that, right?) enters the room on the television, gasping. “Oh _no_ , Shane!”

I hum. God, he’s going to _hate_ the rest of this movie. I remember I couldn’t handle it when I first watched. I’ve always been jumpy about suspense, but… uh, I guess my life has turned around since I last watched this movie. Holy shit. Am I Ripley? No. I’m not Ripley. I’m not smart enough to be Ripley. God, I hope I’m not Ripley.

As the movie progresses, as Dickie begins to grow short with Ripley more often, Ryan’s muscles grow tenser. He starts to scoot impossibly closer to me. I balance my respective popcorn bowl on my lap, daring to drape my arm over his shoulders. His bowl is secured in his leg basket, so he takes my arm with both of his hands.

When Dickie cancels the Venice trip, Ryan squeezes my arm. It’s so fucking cute. I’m hesitant to say we fit together like puzzle pieces because we’re human beings, but… it’s a pretty close fit.

And then the boat scene happens. Ryan uses my arm to cover his eyes, making a shrieking noise.

“SHANE!” He says. I can’t help but laugh. I know this is supposed to be tense, but Ryan’s being adorable and ridiculous. I mean, he works at the police station. I know you can’t judge books by their cover, I feel that I’m a good example of that… but c’mon. “Jesus _Christ._ What the hell is going on!”

“Now the real movie begins,” I attempt an ominous tone. I’m not sure how I did, but Ryan mumbles something into my palm.

“Damn,” Ryan drops my hand and leans into my side. “And I thought this was going to give me a gay Matt Damon.”

“I mean?”

Ryan turns to look at me. “Oh?”

I offer a shrug. It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Ryan seems to accept that answer with a raised eyebrow, returning to his relaxed position. I hear Lucy sigh – I can’t see her, but I know she’s laying on the carpet on the other side of the coffee table. She’s so pouty, these days. Usually, when I watch movies, she’s laying on my lap. But she’s too big to fit on the couch with both of us. I may have to get a bigger couch. Hm. That only just occurred to me.

“Dickie was a dick, anyway,” Ryan says quietly as the boat sinks into the ocean. I’m not sure if it’s to me or himself. “Is… is that wrong of me? It’s probably the point, right? Like, they want us to like Ripley more.”

I blink. Uhhhhhhhh. I don’t know what to say. Ripley just killed a man and Ryan's defending him? I mean. That seems to be hitting some sort of nail on the head. “Maybe your love of Matt Damon is sneaking into this.”

Ryan grunts an agreement. “I would die for Matt Damon.”

The movie continues on. Did you know that Ripley kills exactly three people in the movie before he moves on to his new life? I didn’t remember that. Kind of fucky, right? Ha. Ha. Reminds me of someone. 

We’re about two-thirds of the way through, while Freddie's character is at peak suspicion, when Ryan takes a breath in through his nose.

“Um. Is it weird to watch this kind of movie?” Ryan asks, not looking at me. “Like… I guess, are you… like, relating to this at all?”

“No,” I say quickly, though I really am and it’s freaking me out. “I think… uh, I don’t know, I guess I was distancing myself from my actions anyway so I never… blamed myself.” Where the fuck did _that_ come from, Shane? Tone it back. “Plus I love the cinema, so. I don’t care.”

Ryan chuckles, which surprises me. “The cinema, eh?”

“Oh, you don’t call it that?” I’m glad we’ve moved off the subject. Freddie’s climbing the staircase. Ryan’s really not gonna like this.

“No, I’m not an eighty-year-old man.”

“Me neither.” I plunge my hand into the popcorn. It’s already gotten cold. Usually I inhale it. “I just, uh, respect the art of filmmaking.”

“Shane, that’s so fucking obnoxious.” Ryan laughs out the words. I feel myself grin at the wonderful noise, at the way I can feel his shoulders shaking.

It’s the moments like this where I worry I dreamt the past few days, that Ryan still doesn’t know who I am and what I’ve done. Because how could he treat me like this, like everything’s normal, if he did? Yet he’s still asking questions, he’s curious about it but not… he’s never seemed disgusted. The only time he really seemed disgusted with me was when he saw me a few nights ago after the, uh, incident. But even then, it didn’t last long. And now he’s _cuddling_ with me. Hugging onto my arm while asking if I relate to Ripley, the man who’s currently beating a man to death on screen. He doesn’t even bat an eye.

As the movie draws to a close, as Ripley’s voiceover kicks in, I hear Ryan sniff beside me. I lean over to look at him.

“What? It’s sad,” Ryan wipes at his eyes. I’ve never seen him cry before. I hug him to my chest. He rests his warm cheek against my chest and sighs. “I wasn’t prepared to go on that journey, but man. Good movie.”

“Yeah. I forgot it was that dark, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I take a risk, kissing the top of his head. Ryan turns to face me, placing a hand on my chest. It feels like we’re posing for a magazine advertisement, but it’s comfortable.

Ryan looks like he’s about to say something but jumps as his phone rings. I let my head fall back against the wall. Work. Stupid work. Always calling at the perfect time.

“At least they gave me a few days,” Ryan offers, wiping the rest of his movie tears away. He kisses my cheek as he climbs off of the couch, snatching his phone from where it lie facedown on the coffee table. Where it should be. “I’ll be back in a few.”

So, I trust Ryan. Totally. He’s helping me, he’s practically saving me. Why wouldn’t I trust him? It’s just… why does he leave the room when he gets a work call? For privacy? Still?

Lucy notices the empty spot beside me and meanders her way over, hopping up onto the couch and putting her head back in my lap – a silent question. I oblige, scratching the fur behind her ears. She stretches a paw out. I can barely hear his voice – I hear the tone of it, just not the words. Not that I want to. I have a feeling he’ll tell me anyway. And yet I still try to eavesdrop. Bad to the bone, I guess. At least I’m not killing anyone.

I mindlessly scroll through Netflix as if I plan to watch anything else. It’s getting late, we were going to bed after this anyway. I’m hoping that, tonight, Ryan will actually sleep in the bed with me. I’m not that fragile anymore, and he’s been very cuddly recently. I’ve never slept in the same bed with someone like that before. I imagine it’s heavenly.

I add about ten movies to my list that I don’t plan on watching. Then he returns.

“Alright,” Ryan says. He claps his hands together. Lucy’s head pops up. “I’m tired.”

“M’kay.” I slip out from under Lucy – I feel bad for her, that’s happened so often in the past few days – and grab our metal bowls from the table. “It is pretty late.”

I know the Ryan Objectives had a purpose, which was to give him the control to make decisions and get as close to me as he wanted. But can I… can I ask him? Could I ask him if he wanted to sleep in the bed? I mean, I feel like that’s the best option, right? Like, it’s a win-win – he wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch and I wouldn’t have to be alone. That’s ideal for everyone.

I wrestle with it in my head. I try to think of ways to ask. This is ridiculous. I’ve done worse things than this. Jesus. I wish my brain could pick one personality and fucking stick to it.

I stack the bowls on top of each other and walk into the kitchen, dumping the few extra kernels into the trash. I haven’t been able to get a perfect pop in a while. My mom used to have a machine that would get a perfect pop every time. I wish I knew what it was called.

My fingers shake as they reach to turn on the hot water. There are still dishes left over from dinner and I’m functional enough to do them myself. Ryan’s done so much for me anyway. I wait until the water heats up (because I’m already so shaky, no need to add extra ice to the mix) before I start to rinse the bowls.

“Uh,” I hear Ryan say behind me. He comes to stand beside me. I give him a look, _no, I can do it,_ but he just shakes his head and takes a plate into his hands. “So, they… they think they have enough evidence to indict Dan Miller for the Foster City cases.”

I feel my fingers grip the metal. I let my hands pass under the water. I like when it’s so hot it hurts. Is that weird? I should probably get that checked out. “Who’s Dan Miller.”

Ryan reaches in front of me to rinse the plate. “Owner of the wallet they found at the scene of the fourth murder. Uh, here in town.”

“Okay…” I can barely hear over the faucet. I drop the bowl with a clank onto the dish rack. “…but he didn’t do it.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. He takes the dishtowel from the rack. “I know that, Shane. But we’re going to need to lock someone up at the end of this, and it’s not going to be you.”

My heart doesn’t seem to like that. As if my hands weren’t shaky enough. I dunk them in the water just to hide them from Ryan. “Well, I… I’d rather be locked up than let someone else go away for whatever time I’ve earned.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re so morally sound?” Hm. Okay. He’s mad.

I dry my hands off, knocking the handle to the faucet so that the water shuts off. “I didn’t say that. I’m just… I know it wasn’t realistic, but I was hoping… uh. I was hoping.”

“That nothing would happen?”

“Maybe.” I shake my head. I can’t bring myself to look at Ryan right now. It is pretty stupid of me. “I just don’t know how I feel about that. Wrongful conviction.” Like Dufresne.

“Okay. Sure. Then, someday you get arrested,” he says. He places his newly dried hands on his hips. I can feel my heart climbing up into my throat. “That’s how it works, Shane. Cases get closed when they have no suspects, but they reopen again. Nothing is set in stone unless we get a conviction.”

I watch the water crawl down into the drain.

He doesn’t wait for my response. (As if I had one in the first place.) “If we don’t get this guy now, they’ll find evidence elsewhere. They’ll send actually _competent_ people down to Foster City and they’ll fucking nail you. Because you weren’t exactly careful, were you?”

“I _was_ careful.” I don’t know why I’m getting defensive about this. I had anticipated this, sure, just not so soon. “You couldn’t catch me.”

“Yeah, but then I did. That’s the thing: _I’ve_ already solved this, Shane.” He steps closer to me and I meet his eyes. The anger is fading, all that’s left is a twisted sort of sorrow. “We need to close this thing before the rest of them do.”

I close my mouth. “I’m not going to, I don’t know, give you permission.”

“Well, I don’t need it.” He shrugs. His voice is cold and it hurts. “I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“Okay.” I can hear Lucy’s paws clack against the kitchen floor. I look down at her. Her eyes are sad too. She really does have human eyes. I hear Ryan leave the room but I don’t look after him until I know he’s gone.

So, change of plans. Ryan probably won’t sleep in my room tonight. That’s fine. I can figure something else out to, uh, drown the anxiety I’m feeling. Maybe I could lug the old TV out from the storage building and put it in my room, just to have some sort of background noise. I don’t want to be alone.

I hear Ryan shuffling around in the bathroom. I slip out the back door to grab the television from the storage building. I know couples have fights, sure. Are we a couple with particularly droll circumstances? Obviously. So fights were going to happen. I had this image of us where we’d never fight simply because our circumstances were so crazy. But that was ridiculous. I should have known that.

The television is five thousand pounds. As soon as I lift it, I realize how terrible of a decision this was. I’m still not fully healed. But I can’t manage to bend down to put it away again so I just fight through the pain. My Bambi legs make it to the back door that I hadn’t completely closed, nudging it open by gently knocking the television into it. The door squeaks open. It bumps into something. 

I spare a glance around the TV I'm holding. Ryan is standing in front of me in a white t-shirt and pajama pants that I’ve never seen before. How didn’t I know what he wore to bed? He wakes up before me, I guess, and he changes after I’ve already gone to bed. But he looks so _good_.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes are wide and… panicked? Why?

“I’m putting a TV in my room.” I make a probably inappropriate noise in the back of my throat as Ryan takes the machine out of my hands like it weighs nothing. The relief washes over me and I lean against the door, pressing my hand to the side of my throat. I feel chest heaving. “Jesus, it’s so heavy.”

“Yeah, because you’re still not healed yet.” Ryan sets it down and stands in front of me, pulling my hand away. He gently presses his hand against my neck. “Hopefully you didn’t pull anything.”

“I don’t think I did.”

Ryan gives me a look. “You have to be more careful, Shane.”

I’m confused. He’s mad at me, so why did he help me?

“Uh. Okay. Thanks.” I feel something swell up in the back of my throat. Where are all these emotions coming from? “Um, I’ll just.” I step around him and try to grab the television again.

Ryan picks it up before I can, walking away with it. I stutter a few words, probably meant to make up a question, but end up following after him. I find him standing in my room, looking around.

“Where do you want this?” He glances around the room, eyeing the empty dresser. “There, right?”

“Uh. Sure.” My voice is already getting gummy, prepared for a good sob. I cover my mouth with my hand, pretending to think about something.

Ryan places it down as gently as he can manage, bending down to plug it in. I just watch, waiting for him to leave so I can tunnel under my covers and _cry myself to fucking sleep._ I haven’t had a good cry in a while. I think it might be good, just to get all my emotions out for a few hours. I have way too many of those, emotions. It was easier to hide them when I didn't have any friends. 

“Okay,” he says, standing again. He’s a few feet away. He’s starting to get blurry. “You need anything else?”

I shake my head softly. I wait for a smile – this would be the perfect time for a Ryan smile – but he just gives a semi-stern nod and leaves the room.

I wait until I can’t hear his footfall on the floor before I reach out and close the door. I kind of want to jump on the bed like they do in movies when they need to sob, but I don’t think I’m in good physical condition to do that. I change into my pajamas, taking deep breaths. It’s not good for me to sleep in my regular clothes, I usually end up not changing clothes for days. I choose to stay in my boxers and my softest sweatshirt – a good uniform for the night’s activities.

I end up trudging over to the mattress and crawling in, covering my head with the comforter. I take a deep breath. There’s limited air supply in here but it’s a good private place to cry.

It’s my first fight, I guess. My first _real_ fight with Ryan. I don’t count the incident – that wasn’t a fight, that was just a… mess. I’ve never had a “real” relationship as an adult outside of my college days, much less had a real fight. And I know I’m being pitiful and dramatic, but I think I’m entitled. At least I’m just _crying_ this time instead of killing someone. I’m trying to put things into perspective. At least he’s not leaving; he was wearing his pajamas. He’s staying. That’s good.

I try to focus on good things as I… kind of… convulse (?) on the bed. Is that the word for what I’m doing? Probably. If he and I made it through his realization about me, I’m sure we can make it through this. But it hurts still, I guess. I’ve been spoiled for choice with Ryan the past few days.

I hear the door hinges creak. I must not have closed the door all the way and Lucy nudged her way inside –

“Shane?”

Fuck.

“Yup?” I say as quickly as possible. I don’t have a lot of time to shed this cry voice. I press my fingers into my eyes. My left eye stings. Fuck, I forgot.

“Um.” I hear the door close back. “Uh. Is it okay if I stay in here?”

“Yes.” I’m now _furiously_ wiping at my eyes. Hiding evidence. Ha. “I was gonna ask earlier, but – “

“Yeah. I figured, I just.” I hear him sigh. I’m frantically feeling my face with the back of my hands to try and identify any extra tears before I peek my head out of the blanket. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“Me neither.” Should I… should I sit up, now? Probably, right?

“Why are you – “ I sit up, letting the cover fall into my lap. His face falls. “Oh.”

“Damn it,” I say, covering my face with my hands. “I wasn’t expecting you to come in here.”

“Oh, Shane.” I feel the mattress indent as Ryan crawls onto the bed, tucking his legs under. I can feel the softness of his pajama pants brush against my leg.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat to try and dislodge the milky cry-voice I’m sporting. I keep my face covered. I feel Ryan curl against my side. “I know you’re trying to help me, I just feel terrible for that man.”

“Miller isn’t a good guy, Shane. I want you to know that.” His palm is on my chest, almost… petting me? “I’m not throwing an innocent-innocent man away for life. Part of the evidence against him is a long list of heinous acts he’s committed over time. We’ve never been able to get him for any of it.”

“So he’s not a good guy?”

“Yeah. He’s not a regular ol’ Joe, I wouldn’t be able to do that. You know that, right?”

“He’s a better man than me, though, right?”

Ryan’s hands are cold as they wrap around my wrists, dragging my hands away from my eyes. I look over at him. He shakes his head slowly but firmly, kissing my right hand. “No one’s a better man than you, Shane.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t believe him. That’s not helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahahahahah i love pain. 
> 
> but at least they resolved it. i needed a resolution. i'm making myself cry too much while writing this oh my god.
> 
> it’s 4 in the morning!!!!!! i’m emotionally fragile


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's nothing that makes me happier than writing these two idiots being cute

I wake up to Ryan kissing me on the cheek. I can barely see the orange light of the bedside lamp through my eyelids. The happiness I feel is immediately undercut by Ryan whispering, “Hey, I need to go into the office for a few hours.”

I mutter something unintelligible – I wasn’t sure what the words were going to be before I spoke them, but I try to make it clear that I don’t like that at _all._

“Important meeting. I’ll be back as soon as humanly possible.” Another kiss. On my forehead, this time. He’s sitting on his knees on the bed beside me, his shoes hanging off the side. Because he’s a gentleman. I let my eyes open. His shoulders round out and he makes an odd face. “Ohhh. You’re so _hot_.” I’m pretty sure he’s joking. I’m a mess. I don’t need to see myself to know that.

“I just opened m’eyes.” My voice is most noticeably fucked up when I’ve just woken up. It’s like I’m chewing on gravel. I rub my right eye with the back of my hand before letting it fall into Ryan’s lap. He takes it. I don’t want him to go. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’ll come right back. I won’t be gone a second longer than I have to.”

Hm. It’s still dark outside. “What time’s it?” I put all of my weight on my elbow, trying to sit up. Somehow my shirt twisted around my torso while I was sleeping. How did _that_ happen? I try to pull it back around but it’s never that easy.

Ryan checks his phone. “A little after four.”

“ _Four!_ ” I settle upright, my eyes so wide it hurts. What the fuck is he doing, going to work at _four in the morning?_ I need to have a word with his boss. (I’m joking. Mostly.) “ _Ryan_.”

He laughs, turning my hand over and back again, “I’m not exactly excited about it either.” He shrugs his shoulders and lets me go. “But I’ll be back before you wake up, that’s for sure. I’ll bring food back, or something.”

I sigh. I think I’ll get him coffee. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll bring him coffees and one of those muffins he likes. To make him happy and simultaneously apologize for our fight last night. Apology muffin.

Which – by the way, we fought last night! And he’s being so nice to me! What? I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.

“Sounds good.” I mime a yawn. My acting chops reign supreme. I get another cheek kiss before he leaves the bed, tucking his phone into his pocket. “See you then.”

“Text if you need anything.”

“You got it.”

I wait until I hear the front door close before I get out of bed. I’m always so sore in the morning. I peer out of the blinds, watching as his car pulls out of the driveway. Lucy wanders into the room, almost as if she expects to get undivided attention right now, which makes me sort of sad.

“Sorry, pup, I have to go get apology muffins.” I give her a pet. She’s looking at me with betrayed eyes. I wonder if she actually feels betrayed or if her eyes just… do that. “Don’t look at me like that. C’mon. They have treats too, I’ll get you one of those.”

She can’t understand the English language so she keeps her eyes solemn. I shake my head and give her a final pat. She follows me, her pace slowed and upset, to the kitchen so I can feed her.

I put my shirt on all by myself, every single button accounted for and my sanity intact, in thirty minutes. I think Ryan’s going to be really proud of me. I’m out of the house in under an hour – fully dressed and having let Lucy run around for a bit to get her morning energy out.

It’s a difficult decision to make, but I don’t take the car. It would be easiest, yes, but then we’d have to drive home in separate vehicles. I don’t want that at all. I’d like some more time with Ryan today. I’ve never been woken up like Ryan woke me up today and I’m ready to face anything.

The entire journey down the road toward the bus stop is a perilous one, a walk full of potential energy that makes my head hurt.

It’s odd, having to actively tell myself not to hurt anyone. I keep my hands in my pockets as I walk. There aren’t many people out at this time which makes sense. I guess that helps me in some ways.

I brought my wallet with me even though I still don’t have any money. My pass is still here, luckily, since that guy never actually stole anything. But getting coffees is going to be a challenge. In all the time I’ve been with Ryan, getting him coffees for late hours, I’ve never been able to haggle my discount all the way down to zero dollars. Mara wouldn’t allow that. (Mara’s my shift manager. I don’t know if I’ve clarified that. We aren’t super close, I guess. I hope she’s compassionate with me today.)

It takes a moment for the bus to arrive because it’s so early, but I don’t mind the wait.

I keep my eyes on the ground as I board. There aren’t many people on board right now, though I suppose that makes sense. I settle in the middle section, my hands clutching the edge of the seat, focusing on the rumble of the wheels on the road below.

“Woah.”

I look up to see a guy sitting sideways in his seat across the aisle, his back to the window. He’s staring at me, his legs to his chest.

“Are you doing alright, man?” He asks me, his eyes raking over my face.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Weird. I almost forgot there’s something wrong with me. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in the seat.

“What happened?” He holds a hand out after his question, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

I wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone this early. “Uh, yeah. No problem, I just… got into a bit of trouble a few days ago.”

He hums. “Was it your fault?”

“No,” I turn to face him, my back against my respective window. I can’t bring my knees to my chest, though, so I just cross my right leg over my left one. I wonder if his position is any more comfortable than mine. I don’t know why I offer anything else, but I do. “Uh. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He seems really kind. He reaches up to adjust his beanie, looking toward the front of the bus. He shakes his head, “I’m _really_ sorry, man. City can be rough sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I try a smile. I tap my fingers on my leg. It seems like the conversation is over, but I don’t know if I should turn forward again, or –

“I’m Tony.” He’s leaning forward, hand outstretched. The bus goes over a particularly deep pothole and everything trembles. I accept the shake, nervous but glad that he’s a nice person. I’m just trying to do something nice for Ryan. If he was a terrible person, I’d probably give up.

“Shane,” I say. His firm is grip before he lets go. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. So.” He settles back in his position. “Where are you headed?” He asks as if he already knows but he just wants to hear me say it. I’m sure that’s not the case.

“Eh, grabbing coffee.” I shrug. I don’t want to bring up the boyfriend thing, just in case Tony happens to be against that. Instead, I say, “I’m an assistant at the police station. They’re having an early meeting.” Nice, Shane. Like a fucking glove. Not suspicious at all.

Tony nods wisely. “Ah. About the murders, probably. Am I right?”

As always, Tony. “Yep.”

“Damn.” His face breaks out in a grin, something I wasn’t anticipating. “I know you can’t say anything about it, top-secret shit, but let me tell you this: I’ve been following this thing since they found Felix Bay.”

“Yeah?” _Really? Why?_ “When you say following…?”

“Myself and a few buddies have been true crime enthusiasts for years. I mean, this guy is a modern-day Zodiac.” He crosses his arms over his chest like me. We’re kind of like a mirror.

The bus stops. I look around. I’ve still got a ways to go. A woman in the front of the bus gets off.

“I don’t know if he’s a Zodiac…” This is fucking surreal. I’ve got a fan! Not really. But kind of.

“You’re right. He’s bigger than Zodiac – he didn’t even leave _clues,_ you know? Which is even more of a power move, if you ask me.” Tony has a sort of smirk on his face. He stands and moves to the seat behind me, hand on the back of the seat beside me. I hook my arm over the back of the chair I’m in, looking at him. “I mean, think about it. He could be killing tens of people _right now_ and they just haven’t found ‘em.”

“I don’t know about that.” I think Tony’s wayyyy overestimating my abilities. “He wasn’t exactly discreet with his placement.” I heard Ryan say that once.

“Maybe that was the whole point. Putting the police off his trail. At least, that’s what I’m thinkin’.” Tony settles back against the chair. “I mean, I don’t _want_ there to be more bodies out there. I wanna make that clear. _But_.”

“No, yeah, I hear ya.” I nod slowly. We’re coming up on my stop. I need to bring this to a close, as much as I’d _love_ to hear what else Tony thinks. “Well, I’m probably not supposed to tell you this…”

Tony leans closer.

“…but they’re closer to solving this than you think.” I tap the side of my head, adjusting my jacket and sitting upright as the bus begins to slow. “That’s the meeting today. They’ve got a name.”

“Fuck yeah.” Tony pumps a fist. I almost jump with the intensity of it. “Finally, the system is working.”

I just laugh and stand, gripping the bar above my head. “I’ll see you around Tony.”

“Keep safe, my friend.” He gives me a near cartoonish wave as I leave, turning to face away from the window again. He seems cool. Maybe a bit wacky, but who isn’t these days?

As I step off the bus onto the sidewalk beside the Bluestone Lane café, I see Mara’s car pull into the parking lot. She’s always here so early, I don’t know how she does it.

“Mara!” I try a yell, starting a lukewarm jog but immediately finding that painful and returning to a normal pace.

She grips her keys like a weapon – yikes – and holds them out toward me. I forgot the terrible world women live in, so I hold my hands up.

“It’s Shane,” I say, quieter, slowing my walking pace.

“Oh,” she exhales, dropping her keys into her purse. “ _Jesus_ , Shane.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I laugh a little at her reaction, maybe to distract myself from the possibility that I’m not going to be able to get Ryan anything and this entire trip has been for nothing. Maybe he’d still appreciate me coming to visit? That’s not as exciting as muffins.

When I get close enough to her, Mara pivots to look at me with her mouth open as though she wants to say something – immediately interrupted by a face full of terror.

“Shane!” She steps in front of me, looking over me like I’m a disaster area (which, I guess, isn’t necessarily wrong). She places her cold hand on the side of my face, turning my face to the right so she can look at my fucked eye. “When Detective Bergara told me you had an injury, I thought he was just bailing you out of work for a bit.”

I mean. Kind of. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Mara. C’mon, now.”

She frowns. “What the hell _happened?_ I can’t believe I didn’t trust a _cop_ , what was I thinking!”

“I just got mugged a little, it’s fine – “

“Like hell it’s fine, look at you!”

“You should have seen me a few days ago.” Why did I say that?

“Here, come inside.” She takes my hand, grabbing her keys, dragging me toward the entrance. “What are you doing here anyway? I’m not letting you work, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I’d probably scare the customers.” I wring my hand free from her grip. She leafs through the millions of keys she has. “But, uh, Ryan’s in a meeting and I thought I’d get him a coffee and a treat for helping me out the past few days.”

“So sweet,” Mara says, mostly to herself. She pushes the door open with her shoulder and drags me in by my sleeve. She’s never been so violently affectionate with me before. I hope this doesn’t go away, it’s kinda nice. “The usual for you and Mr. Bergara, then?”

“Uh, I don’t have any money – “

“Forget about it, young man.” She gestures for me to sit down. “We don’t open for another hour, nothing is monetized yet.”

“Huh, is that how that works?” I sit on a stool at the counter, resting my head on my hand. She glares at me. “Thank you Mara, really. As soon as I’m back to normal, I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’re taking it easy for another month when Mr. Bergara – “

“You could just call him Ryan – “

“ – deems you healthy. Night shifts and inventory only.”

“But – “

“Sh.” She holds a hand up to silence me. I’m effectively silenced. “My place, my rules.” The machine whirs to life as she flicks it on. She reaches into the fridge under the counter to grab one of the iced coffee pitchers. “I can’t believe someone would hurt _you_ of all people. Tsk.”

I keep my mouth shut. _You should have seen the other guy_ gets stuck on my tongue. Not funny. I tap my hands on the counter as Mara shuffles around. She seems like she flows freely through the space. I must watch for a few minutes before my manners kick back in.

“Uh. Do you need any help?” A yawn appears out of nowhere and I smother it with my sleeve.

“I’ve got it.” She sets my iced coffee on the counter in front of me, Ryan’s follows soon afterward. “He likes the strawberry muffin, right?”

“Yes.” I watch as she drops two into a bag, sliding it toward me. “Thanks so much, Mara. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“And you won’t. Oh!” Mara runs into the back room, returning with a thin stack of cash. “Here’s your earnings from last week, as well. Cash not check, just as you like it.”

“Thanks.” I place a ten dollar bill into the tip jar before I stand up. Mara gives me a stern look. “What? What goes in the tip jar stays in the tip jar.”

She grumbles, waving me off. “Get out of here. Get him his coffee before it’s cold. And please rest. Let that poor eye of yours rest.”

“Yes ma’am.” I think about hugging her for a moment but that’s weird. I’m getting a lot of good attention today, it’s pretty lovely.

I walk across the street with the coffees in both of my hands, the muffin bag tucked into my front pocket. I don’t know how I’m going to press the elevator buttons with my hands full like this but I’ll deal with that when I get there. A few feet to go yet.

I hope Ryan doesn’t get upset with me. I hadn’t considered that until I got here, pushing the door open with my hip. I don’t think he’d get _mad_ exactly. But he’s probably going to be somewhat grumpy and frustrated from the meeting and the last thing he’s going to want is a surprise. He’s gonna get one anyway.

“Do you need any help, there, Shane?”

I know that voice! Secretary Man. I forget his name, but he’s the secretary upstairs. He always jokes that the coffees I bring for Ryan are for him. It was funny the first time, for sure!

Part of me wants to groan. I’ve already had _so much_ social contact, my voice already aches. But he can press buttons, so. I’ll deal with it.

“I might need some help with the buttons.” My voice is still warming up, so _buttons_ comes out funnily. To make it worse, the word even echoes around the empty, dark lobby. I hope the sun comes up soon. I miss it. I like this place when it’s lit up, not… not like this.

“I was on the way up myself.” He grins at me from the elevator doors. I approach, stepping from the dark perimeter of the room into the narrow stream of light coming from the overhead lamps. His grin falters. “Oh… Shane.”

“It gets worse before it gets better,” I say. Ryan said that once. I _still_ don’t know what I look like, so I’m not exactly sure what the _worse_ is that I’m referring to. And I have to say, I’m getting tired of seeing people look at me that way. Pity felt good for a little while. I like pity when it gets me free coffees, I guess, not when I have to ride an elevator with someone and deal with the vibe for more than a few seconds.

“Ah.” He paints a smile back on but it isn’t quite the same. Damn. “Well. It’s good to see you.” His eye falls on the coffee in my hand. I can see him wrestle with the decision, but he decides not to say it this time. Thank God. “What are you doing here this early?”

“Pick-me-up for Ryan.” I watch as Secretary Man pushes the up button. “I figured no one likes an early meeting, so I’d try and bring his spirits up a bit.”

“Adorable,” he extends an arm for me to board the elevator first. I do. “He’s definitely been more chipper with you around.”

“Yeah?” This is news to me. Good news. Great news. Maybe he _won’t_ be upset. “That’s good. I’ve had darker days myself. We’re good for each other.” It’s cheesy but I think Secretary Man will like it.

He makes a noise of understanding, I think, punching the third button. “Can’t imagine. I’m surprised he managed to snag you, he can be so… uh, oblivious, sometimes.”

Okay. That felt like a record scratch. Where is this coming from? I take a sip of my coffee. “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” he says, frowning, which isn’t a great sign. “I hate to tell you this, I’m sure it isn’t ideal to hear from me, but… ahem. Lisa’s not great at keeping secrets, so… the office ended up hearing quite a bit of your report.”

“That’s fine,” I say. And good. Ryan had wanted everyone to hear the details of the case to throw off suspicion that I had anything to do with –

“We heard that he made you walk home.”

I blink. “Wh… what?” How is that relevant? How is _that_ what they picked up on? What about everything else? Like the crime part?

Secretary Man raises an eyebrow at me, hesitantly asking, “… Was that not the case?”

“No… uh, no, it _was_ , but I… I told him to go, it’s fine.” I have a feeling this wasn’t the sort of detail Ryan wanted them to focus on. “He’s really busy, so I figured – “

“That was the night it happened. Wasn’t it?”

Okay. Uhhhhh. I wish I could teleport back onto the bus with Tony. I want to start my day over again. This is terrifying.

“It isn’t Ryan’s fault.” I have to consciously avoid the tremor in my tone as I say it. Is that _really_ what they’re saying? That it was his fault? Of course it wasn’t. It was _my fault._ Of course it was. I guess it makes it worse that I know the terrible things I’ve done and they don’t.

They probably think I’m some sensitive ragdoll that Ryan’s just trying things out with until he wakes up and realizes he deserves better. Wait, what? That was weird. Maybe that’s what I think. I don’t know, I’m tired. Don’t listen to me.

“We know,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too sure.

I continue, “I should have known better, you know? I insisted that he leave, and I walked home. It’s fine.” Another sip. I’m awake already and my heart is already beating fast and the caffeine certainly won’t help, but it’s just something to _do._ “He wouldn’t have left if he thought I was in danger.”

Secretary Man hums. It isn’t in agreement, more of a doubtful tone. The doors slide open.

“Well, I hope you feel better.” A non-tender and abrupt end to a terrible conversation. There aren’t any lights on, save for a few dim desk lamps. Secretary Man flicks on the overhead light as we step off the platform. I’m having trouble breathing. “If you need anything, you know we’re here for you.”

“Thanks. Oh, and,” I grab the extra muffin from the bag and hand it to him. I’ve lost my appetite. My hand shakes but he doesn’t seem to notice. “There.”

He smiles at me, “Wow, thanks, Shane.”

“Anytime.”

I fast-walk to the hallway doors just to get out of his sight before I start taking deep breaths to calm myself.

Fuck! The doors clank-thud as they close behind me and I lean against the wall to control my breathing in the dark hallway. Ryan’s office light is on but the door is closed, the rest of the hallway pitch black.

Why am I having a panic attack over this? (Inhale.) I mean, it’s just rumors, sure. But Ryan’s done nothing but save my ass and cover all of my terrible actions and this is how that’s being received? (Exhale.) I push off of the wall, making my way toward the faint orange light. (Inhale.) I set my coffee down and try the doorknob. Locked. That’s just perfect, really. (Exhale.)

I sink down onto the floor next to his office, nursing my coffee. (Inhale.) It’s less because it’s coffee, I’m wide awake, but because it’s cold and semi-soothing. I just don’t understand. I could have sworn they’d focus on the fact that I got hurt. I feel like hardly anyone has focused on the part where I get _hurt._ (Exhale. Inhale.) It’s all about Ryan with the other police guys, it’s all about the murder with Ryan. I understand the latter, I guess. I’m not _proud_ of it, Ryan. I panicked. (Exhale.) I press the coffee to my forehead. I feel a bit of water trickle down the side of my face.

I should have just stayed home. This always happens. With my luck, I bet Ryan’ll get upset with me too. That seems to be how the tide has turned. I had such hopes with my Tony and Mara interactions, just to be destroyed by Secretary Man! Damn him.

The door at the end of the hall opens. How long have I been sitting here? I scramble to stand far too fast for my brain to catch up so I end up having to lean against the wall to balance myself.

“Hello?” I hear Ryan say. His footsteps are hesitant as they echo through off the walls. Oh, yeah. It’s dark. He can’t see me.

“Hey,” I say. I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say, again, louder and more confident and less scared.

“Shane?” The footsteps pick up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ahhhhh. Fuckkkkk. I’m gonna cry.

“Uh, I brought. Coffee. And. Muffin.” My word structure is full-on staccato at this point. If he yells at me right now, I’m going to lay down and die. “For you. If you want, I don’t know. I can go, I just thought maybe you wanted. Something. Ha.” I press the cup back to my head. Ugh. What a day and the sun hasn’t even come up.

“Aw, no, I love it.” Ryan’s voice is calm, his hand warm on my arm. “Thank you, Shane.”

“Y’welcome.” I bend down to grab his cup from the ground, pulling the paper bag from my pocket. “Here.”

Ryan laughs and takes them. “What a surprise! So fuckin’ sweet, thank you. So thoughtful.”

I shrug as my response though he can’t see me. He unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting orange light filter into the hall.

“Come in and sit for a second while I get my shit together and then we can go nap for another few hours.”

“ _Good._ ” I hear myself say. I gladly fall into the chair I’ve deemed as _mine._ Ryan isn’t angry. The stress nearly washes completely away, only leaving my irregular breathing. What a day. “What a day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan closes the door with his foot, sipping his coffee. He groans in the back of his throat, nodding. “Needed this.”

“The journey here was long,” I say. I rest my cup on my leg, letting my head fall back. I can see the cardboard boxes on Ryan’s floor upside down.

“I’m glad you made it. Without a scratch, too.”

“Nor a scratch on anyone else.” A weird thing to brag about, being able to use pubic transport without taking a human life. But I made it.

“Good.” Ryan smiles. He reaches into the paper bag and grabs a pinch of muffin. I like the way he tucks it into the corner of his cheek.

“Uh. How was the meeting?”

“Pointless. Could have happened at any other time of the day, but they were getting impatient.” Ryan licks his fingers and straightens a stack of papers with his free hand (it doesn’t quite work, but he doesn’t seem to mind). “By noon, they said, Miller will be arrested.”

“Hm,” I say. “That’s good.” I don’t really believe it, but it’s what Ryan wants.

“They’ve been trying to get him for a long time down in Foster City, and we’re finally going to help them do it.” Ryan clicks his pen and writes something down. I can’t see. “I think everyone knows he isn’t the right guy for this particular crime but, since his rap sheet is so long, I don’t think they really care.”

“Huh.”

Ryan looks up at me. His face softens. It’s a good sight. I really like when he looks at me like that. He snatches his coffee and muffin and stands. “Let’s get out of here. You look tired.”

“Not nice,” I say, though it’s true. “But fine.”

He smiles. “Thank you again, Shane. It was a lovely surprise.”

I shrug. I can’t get over the fact that these guys think Ryan would let me be in harm’s way like that. I don’t know if it’s a comment on his awareness of how I feel about him or his care for my wellbeing. I don’t care. It’s not their business anyway.

Secretary Man waves to us as we get on the elevator. We wave back. When the doors close, I look at Ryan.

“What’s that guy’s name?” I ask, my voice sounding robot-like as it bounces around the cabin.

“Brian,” Ryan says. He pauses. “Or… is it Matt?”

I laugh a bit too hard at that. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s a small relief – that neither of us know his name, that his opinion couldn’t matter to us simply because we don’t know his name. Or maybe I laugh because I’m tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so. in writing this chapter, i've come up with an ending to this (which i didn't have before, by the way). but it may require more chapters. i'm not sure yet - but, if there were more chapters, would that be okay? i can probably condense it to five chapters but i also wanna make sure that's okay with you all. just lemme know, we'll get through this together. 
> 
> i'm so excited! thank you for reading.


	16. Chapter 16

I bought Lucy a new harness to walk her in because she chewed through the old one in an act of rebellion. Apparently I forgot to take it off after a walk and she got frustrated. I didn’t know she’d do that. Sometimes I forget she’s a dog.

Anyways, it finally came in this morning. Blue to match her collar, of course. I’m trying to cut through the box with a pair of scissors but Lucy keeps putting her nose right in the middle of everything, trying to sniff out a clue of some sort.

“Lucy, get your face away from the sharp object.” I gently push at her nose. She snorts and shakes her head in response. I don’t know what she wants from me.

Ryan pokes his head into the living room. His hair is wet. He eyes the box. “What’d you get?”

“Harness.” Ryan squints at me. I suddenly feel the need to clarify. “For Lucy.”

Ryan laughs at me, stepping the rest of the way into the room. I’m pretty sure he’s wearing my shirt. I wonder if he knows that he’s wearing my shirt or if it was just an accident. It’s one of the few t-shirts I salvaged on the move here – it’s a Looney Tunes short-sleeve t-shirt. Why in the world did he choose to wear that? What gives him the right to look so hot? “I figured it was, weirdo. It wouldn’t be for one of us.”

I raise my eyebrows. It seemed like he might have thought it was for one of us.

“Huh,” I say. “Well. I was thinking I could take her for a w-a-l-k in a little bit if you wanted to come along. Just to break this thing in or whatever.”

Ryan shrugs. “Sounds good to me.” He leans against the wall. I can’t get over the fact he’s wearing my shirt. How does it still fit him so nicely when he’s easily a foot shorter than me? Is he a foot shorter than me? No way. He seems it. “Why do people spell words around dogs, anyway? They don’t understand English?”

“Maybe Lucy does.” I give her a look, ripping at the tape. “It’s not about understanding a language, Ryan, it’s almost like… they recognize the sound. If I say the w-a-l-k word and then put a leash on her, I think she, uh, gets the idea.”

Ryan stares at me. “Didn’t you say you weren’t a dog person?”

Hm. I feel like that’s not what I just said at all.

The confusion must register on my face because he continues. “When we first met. You said you weren’t a dog person.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t.” I place the scissors on the table. Lucy sticks her head into the box. I tug at her collar. “Honestly, I got her to have a friend. And I figured she’d be helpful in making, uh, human friends as well.”

“Weird way to say that.” He laughs at me, shaking his head. He doesn’t move to sit. “She certainly helped us meet.”

“That she did.” Maybe I intervened a little bit. Who knows? I’m not going to say that. “Lots of things had to come together. Lucy’s the most fun factor, for sure.”

“Lots of coincidences,” Ryan nods once.

“No such thing as coincidences, Ryan.” I stand with the box in my hands. “I’m gonna go get changed and then we can go to the park or something.”

“You should just wear that.” Ryan gestures to my outfit.

I glance down at myself. I look like a disaster. “I look like a disaster, Ryan.”

“You really don’t.” Ryan places his hands on his hips, scanning me. I balance the box on my hip. “I kind of like this look more than your put-together outfits.”

This is news to me. Why? “Wh – _why_?” I put so much effort into my put-together outfits.

“Because! You look great.” Ryan smiles at me, which is confusing. “You’re more in your element.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No! Oh my God, Shane. I’m being serious.” He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, frustrated. I feel like I’m being pranked. “I like your put-together look, but I like this too. It’s like a new side of you. All disheveled and stuff.”

Hm. I don’t know if I should like being called disheveled as much as I do. “I don’t think other people would appreciate it as much as you do.”

“I beg to differ. There’s a big market for disheveled handsome men these days.”

I don’t have enough time to think about that before Ryan is pulling Lucy’s harness from the box. Lucy stares at it for a moment before recognizing it as a walking accessory. She jumps up on Ryan and he nearly falls over.

“Get your shoes on,” he says, sitting on the ground to get the harness on Lucy. She’s always been weird about the preparations for a walk – she won’t help a bit when trying to get out the door. I watch him lift her front paws to help her step into the harness. So cute. “We’re going.”

“Let me at least fix my hair.” I step into my shoes, pulling the backs for assistance.

“Nope. I like when you wear your little bandanas.” He hops up, clipping Lucy’s lead onto the back. “Let’s just go. Who do you have to impress?”

“The world,” I say. Ryan grabs my hand as he walks toward the back door, dragging me along with him. He’s really strong. I’ve known this for a while but sometimes it scares me.

When we get to the carport, I slow down. I forgot a very crucial part of this whole thing. Ryan looks back at me.

“Are we driving?” I ask. I don’t know which park we’re going to. Not sure if there’s even one within walking distance.

“Yeah…?” Lucy keeps walking forward until the lead grows taut, looking back at us as if to say _but I thought we were moving?_ “Why?”

“I’ll drive, then.” I hold my hand out for Ryan’s keys. His car is parked behind mine. He just stares at my open palm, waiting for an explanation. “Lucy stands up for the whole ride. She’s too antsy. It’s hard to navigate but I got it.”

“Hm.” Ryan looks down at Lucy, whose eyes are unblinking and staring at us. “She’s so big, though, doesn’t she block the entire back window?”

“Precisely.” I open and close my hand. Ryan rolls his eyes and places the keys in my palm. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

Ryan gives me directions to the park he had in mind. I accidentally catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My eye is getting better though it still looks scary. I reach into the door compartment and grab the pair of sunglasses I remembered seeing. Ryan doesn’t say anything.

When we arrive, he seems to be surprised to see people walking around.

“Usually it’s empty,” he mutters. I smother a laugh. “Do you still wanna go?”

“Yeah. Lucy loves people.” At the sound of her name, Lucy puts her head on my shoulder. I reach a hand up to pet her for a second or two. “It’ll be fine. If you’re not embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” He turns to look at me as I pull into a space. “About what?”

“That I look like an actual disaster area?”

“Normal people dress like that all the time, Shane. You’re just overreacting.” Ryan opens his door, but not before kissing my shoulder first.

I guess I was so used to getting dressed up that I forgot how wonderful it was to just _relax._ To just throw on whatever clothes were nearest or coziest or easiest. Normal people don’t dress like this, not that I’ve seen around here anyway. This was a good outfit for a subway, maybe. I’m looking around – the people whose clothes are most similar to mine are joggers. But they actually have an excuse to wear sweatpants. I’ve been lazing around all day in these. Whatever. Ryan said I look fine. I trust him.

We walk around the figure-eight shaped path. Ryan holds Lucy’s lead (he insisted) and, every few minutes, will take my hand for a moment before letting it drop. I just let it happen, my other hand in my pocket. It’s good to be outside. Feels normal again, almost.

Around the fiftieth time Ryan grabs my hand and lets it go again, I say, “What are you doing?”

He hums like he doesn’t know what I mean when he clearly knows what I mean.

I take his hand again. He squirms a little, so I let go. Lucy gets distracted by a tall patch of grass and sits beside it. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in her head. We slow to a stop, stepping off of the path to let some bicyclists through.

“What’s up?” I look down at Ryan. He sticks both of his hands into his pockets. “You don’t _have_ to hold my hand if you don’t want to, Ryan, I just thought… I don’t know, that you wanted me to take your hand first.”

“Eh,” he nudges a rock on the ground with his shoe. He’s still wearing my shirt. Very cute. “I’m not really one for holding hands.”

“Okay,” I nod slowly as if that answers my initial question. “Uh. I do want to point out that you…” I don’t finish the sentence. Ryan’s face is starting to grow pink. I smile at him. “What is it?”

“It’s lame. Don’t.” He wraps Lucy’s lead around his wrist, probably just for something to do. A way to avoid looking at me. “It’s nothing.”

“Ryan…?” I step closer, bending down so he has to look at me. “This is very ominous. You know that, right?”

“It’s – s’not _ominous_ , what?” He runs a hand through his hair. And I, because I’m feeling particularly confident today, run my fingers through his hair as well. He looks up at me with a sigh. “I just… I don’t like how they’re looking at you.”

“They?” I look around for something, maybe a bit too animated and obvious in my movements. He’s already flustered, I just want to make him _more_ flustered. You know? Ryan grabs my hand, pulling me back down, “What?”

“Stop!” He whispers. He bites the inside of his cheek, releasing my hand. “I guess… uh, people keep walking by and, like, checking you out, or whatever.”

“No, they’re not.” I shake my head at him. C’mon. I’m a mess. They’re probably checking _him_ out, in all honesty. “It’s probably you, Ryan.”

“No! No, it’s _you._ ” He tugs at the hem of my t-shirt slightly. Cute! Cute. He’s so cute. Stop. “I thought maybe they were looking at your bruises or something but they’re not.”

“I think you’re reading it wrong,” I cast another glance around. All of these people are way more attractive than me. Almost a Ryan level of attractiveness. Almost. “There are more attractive people here than me.”

“Nope.”

“You’re here.”

“Shane.” Ryan frowns at me.

“You’re being unbelievably cute. Just want you to know that.” When did I get so bold? It must be the sunglasses. I think it’s the sunglasses. They house confidence. “Let’s go. We can go sit somewhere or something. Away from all the people.” Lucy is panting on the grass. “Lucy’s already tired anyway.”

“Hm. Fine.”

We find a bench overlooking a little pond. Lucy finds a patch of grass in the shade that she likes better, immediately laying down and rolling onto her back. Ryan lets me sit down first, seemingly so he can sit as close to me as possible. I’ve never seen him like this – is this jealousy? I take the lead from Ryan and wrap it around the armrest of the bench, clipping it together. Lucy isn’t a running-away dog, but it’s what you do in public with a dog.

I let my arm fall around Ryan’s shoulder. He rests his head back into my elbow.

“What you were saying earlier about me not being a dog person,” I begin without thinking about what I’m saying, “It kinda makes me want to get a cat again.”

Ryan shrugs. “Okay.”

“I think Lucy would like a friend, too. That would be a good experience for her.” I sound like a parent. I’m not Lucy’s _parent._ I don’t know what I am to Lucy. I do love her, though. Still not sure when that happened. ”Plus I miss having a cat.”

“Okay,” Ryan says again.

“Would that… would that be okay?” I turn my head to look at Ryan. It doesn’t hurt that bad, surprisingly. “If I got a cat?”

“Fine with me. You can make your own decisions, it’s your house.” He shrugs again, practically melting into me. “I don’t live there.”

I nod. I don’t really know what to say to that. I just stare forward. I wonder if it would be out of line to offer that… well, he _could_ live there if he wanted. Eventually. Not tomorrow, or anything. Unless he wanted that. Ahem.

Ryan shifts for a few moments. Considering something in the middle of the pond. “I mean. I’m not saying. I’m not saying I _wouldn’t_ live with you. Just that I don’t live with you _now_. You know?”

I look over at him. This reminds me of the time I told Ryan I was _interested_ in him. Floundering. Drowning on the land. Nice to see it reversed. 

“Yeah.” I tighten my arm around him. Lucy circles the patch of grass, trying to lay in the perfect position.

We don’t say much for a while, just staring out at the water as Lucy persistently tries to get comfortable. I like this. It’s comfortable. A big life decision has just been somewhat discussed and I’m not panicking. He doesn’t seem to be panicking either. We’re just sitting on a bench together, thinking. I think this is the best-case scenario for us.

I get the feeling that this is the catalyst for the rest of everything. For the other relationship things. For kisses and hugs that don’t need preambles. For, uh, other things.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture of the pond. I turn the camera around and snag a picture of Ryan. He makes an upset noise but makes no move to stop me. I post them both. I’d like to remember this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look how cute these guys are. huh. be a shame if... if something were to HAPPEN, wouldn't it?
> 
> anyway here's some more olive being true to her character: https://imgur.com/a/G89wZt1


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehhehehehehehehehehehheh!
> 
> rock n roll buckaroo

I wake up early on accident.

I have nothing to do today, absolutely nothing, and I planned to sleep until Ryan got home from work. But my internal clock chose now as a good time to wake up. Oh, well. Ryan isn’t even awake yet. That’s saying something.

I turn over on my side, staring at the side of Ryan’s face. I’ve never understood how he can just _sleep_ like that. He doesn’t move, just lays down on his back and he’s still for the rest of the night. It’s like a superpower or something. Maybe he doesn’t dream. Nah, he’s got to have dreams, right?

“Are you staring at me?” Ryan’s voice is incredibly deep. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“How’d you know?” I push myself up onto my elbow. He keeps his eyelids shut as I do so.

He smiles. His hair is all spiky. “I don’t know, I could just feel it.”

“Well, sorry.” I sit up, straightening my shirt around my torso. I must be a nightmare to sleep beside, tossing and turning all over the place. “I’m awake.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, turning over onto his stomach with his head toward me. “What time is it?”

“Too early for me to be awake, but I _am_.” I wait for him to react. He just opens an eye and looks at me. “Whatever. I’m gonna take Lucy on a walk in the neighborhood, I think. I’m feeling capable today.”

Ryan mumbles something I can’t quite understand, eye slipping closed again. He probably said _have fun_ or something. He’s sleeping in today for some reason. He deserves it.

Lucy seems noticeably confused when she sees me walk into the living room at this hour. Since Ryan’s been sleeping in the bed, there’s been no room for Lucy so she’s stayed out on the couch. I don’t think she’s very excited about this new arrangement, as much as she loves Ryan. I guess I can understand.

“Good morning, Luce,” I say for reasons that I cannot understand. Lucy just stares at me as I walk across the room. “How’re you feeling this fine morning?”

She is unresponsive until I start getting closer to her leash. Lucy jumps down from the couch and sprints toward me, skidding across the floor into my legs and nearly knocking me down. I keep my noise of surprise somewhat quiet, though I hear Ryan’s grumbly voice call “You ‘kay?” through the house.

“Yeah!” I say back, opening the door. “Back in a little bit!”

I forgot how much I enjoyed being outside this early. I like the way the air feels. Does that even make sense? It’s almost, like… heavier. Like it’s moving out of the way as I walk down the side of the street, parting down the center. It’s like I’m the only person on the planet. It’s just me and Lucy, walking together.

I take the long way around. Lucy deserves it. She’s been so ‘neglected’ recently, in that she hasn’t at all. Sometimes we stop petting her and she slinks away as though we’ve deprived her of all happiness. I think she’s having a good time. Her tongue is hanging out the side of her mouth. I think that’s a good sign.

We walk past Ryan’s house. I reroute us so that we can do so. It’s so odd, seeing it like this. All dead and empty without the lights on inside. As selfish as it is, I don’t want it to go back to normal. I would like that house to be dead for a long time, if possible. Maybe forever. I’d like that lamp that’s visible through the front windows in my house, please, with the owner of said lamp along with it.

I want him to live with me so fucking bad. In fact, I _yearn_ for it. I can’t even fully enjoy the time I’m spending with Ryan _now_ because I stress over the time that I won’t have him here _later._ I’m ruining it for myself, really. I wonder if Ryan does the same. I wonder if any of the things that cross my mind cross his too. I want to know more about Ryan.

I feel the lead grow taut as I walk. I look down at Lucy laying in the grass in front of Ryan’s house. She seems to recognize this is the way back home. Ugh. She’s started doing this recently. I practically have to push her the rest of the way.

“Lucy.” I use that parent-voice. I don’t like to use it but she’s being unreasonable. “C’mon.”

She blinks up at me. _Or what?_

“Lucy.” I tug at the lead. She rolls onto her back for a belly rub. Unbelievable. “Let’s go home.”

No response. She stares up at me, her eyes semi-crazed.

“Breakfast.”

She rolls back onto her feet and starts trotting in the direction of the house. Little shit.

When I return, Ryan is standing in the living room, rubbing his eyes. I unhook Lucy’s leash from her harness, letting her run free.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” I can’t stress how long I’ve wanted to be able to say that. “Gotta go to work?”

“No, not yet.” He grumbles, peeking out at me through his fingers. Cute. “Nothing’s happening, I don’t need to go in. No detective-ing for me this early, I just need some time to breathe.”

“Huh,” I nod. “Well.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “I was thinking about swimming for a little bit. I’ve been neglecting the pool I’ve been blessed with.”

Ryan hums. “I’d join you but I loathe getting wet in the morning.”

I make a face. “So. Showers… are a no, then.”

“Not in the morning, unless I reek.” He pauses for a moment and sniffs his shirt. “Yeah, no. I just am not a fan. Of wet.”

I laugh at his wording. He’s funny when he’s sleepy. And when he’s not sleepy. “Alright, well. Do you need anything? Breakfast or something, maybe?”

“I can make some myself, but thanks.” He smiles at me, closed eyes and all. I hear Lucy’s paws clacking across the concrete outside. “You have fun swimming.”

“Thanks.” I like the way he looks right now. “You gonna go back to bed?”

“No, I need to wake up. If I sleep in too hard I’ll get into that routine.” He sits on the couch and looks at me, grabbing a pillow to hug to his chest. “I think I’ll watch Shawshank Redemption again.”

“Tempting.” I raise my eyebrows, pivoting on my heel. “I’m gonna change into my swimming trunks. I want the full experience.”

“All power to you,” he says, which I’ve never heard him say before. I think he’s just tired.

I haven’t worn my swimming trunks in quite a long time. It’s nice. It reminds me of past memories, good ones. Like beach vacations with my family when I was little. Something about the weird texture of the fabric that ignites some sort of need in me to have a flashback. I don’t have the ability to have a flashback. Oh, to be one of the chosen few.

When I walk back out into the living room, Ryan offers a catcall type of whistle and a gravelly half-shout of _legs!_ from his place on the couch. I wave him off in that animated way that always makes him laugh.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it into the lounge chair. I feel comfortable being somewhat strenuous activity so I _dive_ into the pool. It feels wonderful. I missed the LED lights on my eyelids, the way the water sort of dims them. I love to swim in the dark. It creates a sense of calm. Maybe I’m just crazy.

I come up to the surface, pushing the water and hair out of my eyes. It probably feels more elegant than it looks. When I blink the water from my eyes, I spot Lucy standing at the side of the pool with her head tilted like she’s considering saving me.

“I’m okay,” I tell her. She seems to consider that before walking back over to the grass to run in circles.

I float in the deep end, staring up at the trees that lean over toward the pool and frame the sky. I don’t do this nearly enough. This morning has been full of motivation and I’m almost afraid to savor it. Like the moment I get out of this pool and actually put effort into this day, all of the opportunities I’m visualizing will disappear. So, for now, I’ll just float.

It felt so good to dive, I almost consider getting out and trying again. I feel like a kid rediscovering everything. Probably not ideal.

“Hey.” I hear Ryan’s voice muffled under the water. I almost flip over rather ungracefully but I manage to paddle over to the side of the pool where he stands. He’s wearing his work clothes, though his pants are rolled up to his knees. I look up at him, reaching my hand up out of the water to point at his pants choice. “Sorry. I thought I could get away from work for a few hours, but uh. Apparently not.”

I make a sad face. He rolls his eyes. He sits on the edge, dangling his legs over. I swim over to stand in front of him. It’s odd having to look up at him. But it’s fine. I grab his feet under the water and he yelps, splashing water at me.

“So, you’re leaving?” I wait until he calms down to grab his ankles. He doesn’t seem to mind.

He hums. It sounds sort of sad. “Yep. But how’s about we go out for dinner tonight or something?”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

He laughs. “Alright. Thennnn. What if I bring ice cream home?”

“I like that better.” I tug on his leg like I’m thinking about pulling him in. He gives me a look. “Maybe we can watch another King movie and eat ice cream.”

Ryan grins. He loves that idea. “I _love_ that idea.”

“Then it’s settled.” I let my feet settle at the bottom. A thought appears in my brain and, blind with bliss, I say it without thinking. “Would you… want? To live here? With me?”

The lights from the pool reflect across Ryan’s face as he nods hesitantly. Then again, surer, meeting my eyes.

“Um.” Good. “Alright. I don’t… I don’t know how… I mean, I’ve never done this before, but I’d love that.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead before he stands. Water spills down his legs. I don’t want him to go. That’s probably selfish of me. I’m in perfect condition to work as well, I’m just slacking off. I don’t _look_ great, sure, but I feel fine.

“You can use my towel,” I offer. He nods once and grabs it from the chair. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Soon, I hope. Best case scenario is by lunchtime.” He sits to dry his legs off. “I don’t think they’ve got anything for me today. Just some brief busy work. Basically I’ve just gotta show my face for a few hours.”

“At least it’ll be easy!” I offer this and he smiles in return. “I think I’ll just stay in here until you come back.”

“You’ll be a raisin.”

“All the more reason to not go.”

“Shane.” He points a finger at me, folding the towel up neat and placing it on the seat. “I’ll see you later. Make sure to eat something before I get back.”

I pretend to consider it. I’m gonna eat an entire pint of ice cream for lunch and I feel like he knows it. “Be safe,” I say instead.

He stops in the house to put his shoes on before blowing me another kiss out the door as he heads to his car. Is this what domestic bliss feels like? It has to be this. Though I’m already in the water, I feel lighter than air. When did I get so fucking mushy? He did this to me. Or was it Lucy?

I don’t know what time Ryan considers to be _lunchtime._ By the time I get out of the pool it’s already nine and I expect Ryan to be home in an hour or so. But ten passes. It crawls by. And eleven follows. I sit on the couch and scroll through the endless supply of movies I _could_ be watching, but I can’t watch anything alone without Ryan. I’m becoming too dependent. God, I hope I’m not too clingy.

And then twelve passes. Noon. I stand at the window for a few minutes as if watching the road will make him appear. It doesn’t.

And then one disappears. And I take a nap. And then it’s five. And he’s still not here.

I don’t want to call him. I don’t want him to think I’m too clingy, you know? Like, what if I call and he’s like _“I’m on the way, weirdo?”_ I may be overthinking this. I often am. Lucy seems to notice that I’m worrying because she paws at my leg, like giving her attention will solve all my problems. I try my best, but the worry gets the best of me. I lay down on the couch and stare at the ceiling. This is what I often do, but certainly never this tense.

I glance down to my chest. My heartbeat is so fast and strong it’s moving my shirt. That can’t be good.

The sun is beginning to go down when Ryan opens the back door. I almost fall over trying to stand up. I search his face – stony. I search his hands – ice cream-less. Not great.

“Hey,” I say.

“ _Hey_.”

He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and walks away. Hm. Okay. I scan my brain. _Should_ I have called? Did I miss something? Fuck. It isn’t our monthiversary, and he said he didn’t want to do that. I’m keeping my panic down low. I’m sure this is just like all the other times I’ve tried to figure out what I did wrong and Ryan wasn’t mad at all. This is the same. I’m sure of it. I’m sure of it.

I’ve noticed recently that I repeat things when I don’t really believe them. Kinda funny. Anyway.

Ryan returns wearing the same thing he wore when he left, though his tie is loosened and his shirt is unbuttoned just slightly. It looks good. But he’s not smiling at me, which is the first concern. The last few times I was working myself into a panic, he’d look at me and smile to reassure. But he’s just stern.

He grabs a beer from the fridge and leans against the back door while he drinks it. I stay where I am, standing, staring at him. He won’t look at me. He drinks an entire beer in real time and I watch him do it, like a smile is at the bottom of the bottle. It isn’t. He sets it down on the counter, still staring off into space.

“Are you okay?” I hear myself ask quietly. I haven’t spoken in hours so my voice wavers.

He finally meets my eyes, his eyebrows raised as if to say _how dare you._

He grabs the bottle again and walks over to the recycling bucket by the fridge. I wince as it clatters.

"I came into work late today. I thought, hm, they won't mind, nothing bad has happened or anything.” He walks back to his place against the door, collapsing back onto the already cracked wood. He has his hands on his hips, as though he’s just run half a marathon and needs to rest. “How fucking wrong I was, Shane."

"What do you mean?" I shift on my feet. He turns his eyes toward me again. They sting my face. "Why don't you... why don't you sit down? We can talk about your day."

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair. He begins to pace. I don’t like this. “Let’s talk about _your_ day, Shane. What did _you_ do today?”

My throat is so dry. What did I do? My brain is blank. “I just… waited for you to come home?”

He chuckles and it’s an angry sound. “Did you?”

“Ryan, I don’t understand.” This morning was so wonderful. What did I do wrong? “Did something happen?” As soon as I say it, I know the answer. “… Did that Brian guy say something, because I told him it was my fault I walked home. I don’t know why they all think – “

“Brian? You think this is about _Brian?_ ”

Okay, so I was wrong. Fuck me for trying to identify the problem, I guess.

He continues. “You’re fucking crazy.”

I press my lips together. My heart is doing something funny. All I did was sit around and wait for him to come home. All I did was think about him. Why is he so mad at me?

He continues, again. This time he laughs a little, another opposite-of-happy noise. “I was willing to _tolerate_ this shit, you know? Because I care about you and I don’t know why I do, I just _do._ I don’t do it on purpose, I’d give anything to not give a shit about you. And yet.”

I blink.

“You said you were done,” he finally concludes. He lets his hands fall to his sides, slapping against his thighs. “That’s it. You said you were done, Shane, and you lied to me.”

Wait. What?

“What?” It’s so quiet I can barely hear it. Quieter than a whisper. “Ryan…?”

He isn’t pacing, now. Somehow it makes me feel worse. The way he’s slumped against the door, looking at me with what I can only describe as a sneer. I’d like to go back in time, please.

“I’ve done nothing but help you with this. And _this_ is how you repay me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about right now.” My arms are beanbags attached to my body. I can’t move them. I want to walk over and reach for him because I need to make sure this is all real. “What happened? I’m so confused…?”

“They found another body across town, Shane.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Right. Right, it wasn’t.” He bites the inside of his cheek and nods. “Of course it wasn’t. Why in the world would I think it was you who did it?”

“Ryan.” I can’t even cry, I’m too overwhelmed. And that’s saying something. How do I prove this to him? Is there even a way to prove this to him? “I’ve been home. With you. And anytime I’ve gone outside, I’ve been with you.”

A beat. “You walked Lucy this morning.”

Fuck. “Yes. I _walked Lucy._ ” I’m getting a little bit mad, I think. I don’t think I’ve felt mad in a really long time. Feels bad. “Why would I bring Lucy along with me if I wanted to hurt someone?”

“I don’t know!” He’s louder. Just short of a yell. If he yells, I think tears might actually fall. “Maybe you didn’t bring her at all.”

“I did, though. Why are you doing this?” It hurts a lot, in my chest. The way he’s looking at me. The way he’s talking to me. “I asked you to move in today. I want you to spend _more_ time with me. Why would I do that if I was going around still being a terrible person? I’ve told you I’m better now. I don’t do that anymore.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

I feel like he’s ignoring the words I’m saying, which makes this worse. I just stare at him. I don’t even recognize him like this. His tie is hanging loose around his neck and it’s making me even more nervous. I think it would make it better if he was still all dressed up in his detective costume because maybe that would explain the lack of care in his eyes. But he’s Ryan right now.

“I…” I say. The words don’t come. I’ve already said all of them, it seems like.

“I mean,” he laughs again, “we _just_ got Miller put away. How the hell are we supposed to walk back from this?” Ryan runs his fingers through his hair, letting his hand linger on the top of his head. “Everyone – the press, the public, the poor victims’ families – they’re all going to know the killer’s still out there.”

“I don’t know what’s happening but it isn’t me.”

“Everything was going so well.” His voice makes something break inside me. “I just don’t understand.”

Everything bubbles up my throat before I can stop it.

“There’s nothing _to_ understand because I didn’t _do_ it.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, falling back onto the couch. I understand why he would think I did it initially. _Initially._ But I’m telling him I didn’t do it. I’ve been nothing but honest with him about this. About _all_ of this. Why won’t he believe me? “Fuck!”

“Calm down.”

“I’m calm.” I rest my head back to look at the ceiling. The same ceiling I stared at, waiting restlessly for Ryan to come home. “I’m calm.”

“Just.” I hear Ryan shifting across the room. I hear Lucy’s feet clacking against the room, feel her jump up beside me. She rests her head in my lap. I place my hand on her head. I will not look at Ryan. “Tell me the truth.”

“I have.” I say it to the ceiling. It bounces back at me. “Why would I even do that to you, Ryan? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Why did you kill Nate Fields?”

I _have_ to look at him now. “He was going to _kill_ me, Ryan!”

“Not him.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “The other one.”

I blink. Oh. The other one.

“It was the night we were at the diner,” I say, like that explains it.

Ryan is blank. Fine.

I feel Lucy pawing at me to pet her. I do, once, but I’m not in the mood.

“I don’t know,” my voice cracks, “I didn’t… I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again and I was lonely and… I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I’m thinking clearly _now._ ”

He isn’t pleased with that answer. “You’re blaming me for your failure, then.”

“I’m not.” How did he even get that from what I said? “I’m… I’m _thanking_ you for getting me back on the right track.”

“Bullshit.”

He turns around for a moment. The moment turns into a minute. You know, I think he’ll never turn back around. And I hope that’s the case.

How dare he? Truly. I have made mistakes and they’ve been fucking terrible ones. And I’ve tried so hard to move on, and I know I’ll never be able to truly do that, but he was so prepared to help me try to do so. But to just drop me like this? All the things he’s trusted me with, just to drop me like this?

I’m sort of… angry. Really angry. I thought I had misidentified this, but I’m _angry_ with him. I never thought I’d be angry with him. I always thought it would be the other way around. Maybe I lost the right to be angry, but here I am. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just be a fucking murderer, right? Since that’s all I’m able to do.

"They never reported on the type of weapon I used,” says the Shane-voice outside of my head. “I haven't touched my gun in months, and it's the only one I have. So I'll bet, when you get the autopsy done, you won't find Beretta-compatible ammo."

He scratches the back of his head. He pivots.

“Until then, I don’t think I can stay here anymore.” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I thought I could handle this for some reason. I don’t know why I thought I could handle this.” The second part is said mostly to himself.

“Fine.” I don’t want him here anyway. That’s not true. “Go home, then. I’ll see you later.”

Ryan nods. He bends down and grabs his shoes that he kicked off by the front door. I watch him do so. My jaw is clenched, I can feel it. I ache. I can’t believe this. I cannot believe he’d fucking do this to me. I can’t wait for him to find out it wasn’t me. I _can’t wait._ I wonder how he’ll feel.

“Just.” He says, shoes in one hand and doorknob in the other. Lucy stands up next to me, staring at him. I can tell she’s got a bark in her mouth, just in case. I love how she knows how to protect me. I love her. “If you _did_ do this. You can tell me. I’m… well, I’m mad, for sure, but we can… I just need you to tell me the truth.”

I open my mouth to respond – but I’ve already told him the truth. Too many times. So. I owe no more explanations. I press my lips together and shake my head. “Call me when you get the results back.”

I see something flash across his face even from the distance I’m at. Doubt. _Good._

Then he leaves. I’m past the point of tears right now, I don’t feel like crying anymore. I stand wordlessly to watch his car pull out of the driveway. As he moves farther away from me, I think about him less and less. Maybe I just trick myself into believing that.

“C’mon Lucy,” I say. My voice hurts, like I’ve been screaming for the past hour. I wish I _could_ scream. “Bedtime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's eight in the morning right now and i have not slept in Three Days!
> 
> ((this won't last long i promise))
> 
> i hope you're doing okay...!!!!!!!
> 
> thank you guys for all your comments on the last chapters oh my godddd i love you so much thank you for reading !


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i'm so sorry it took so long to post this. i've been posting chapters when i have the next chapter finished (i just finished chap 19, if that makes sense) and for some reason i was really stuck on the last one. but we're here now, thank god.

I forget that I’m waiting for Ryan’s response. That’s a joke.

I called Mara this morning to ask if I could come in to work. She asked if I was feeling better. I must have hesitated because she ended up saying _stay home_ and hung up. I was hoping she’d let me at least come _in._ I needed to do something today to distract myself. I can’t even watch TV. I don’t have the motivation to do that.

I tried to keep my spirits up for the first day after he leaves. The night he left I was a wreck, for sure. That’s to be expected of me. I never cried, though, which I’m proud of. I was overcome with anger, I guess. That was a first. I’ve said that a lot, I’m just genuinely surprised. We were bound to have issues but I sincerely thought he trusted me! What an error.

Second, third, fourth, fifth day? Subpar. Such is to be expected from a poser such as myself.

Lucy seems to have sensed my weird grey energy but, instead of coming to comfort me, she’s kind of been… staying away? I don’t know why. I keep patting the couch next to me but she just walks away to lay on the bed. My instinct is that she’s pouting that Ryan’s gone. That’s sort of relatable.

This is beyond sulking. When I was sulking, I was able to watch movies and eat food. I could sleep. At this point, I worry that I _did_ kill that poor guy despite my knowing I haven’t done anything. I even looked up how long it takes for autopsies to be completed (I have very little knowledge. I’ve got either a few hours left or five more weeks. I don’t know which I want more). I don’t even want to watch the news, not even to see him. It makes me feel dizzy.

Do you think he’s having a hard time with this as well? Probably not, right?

He’s probably still sure I did it, so. I’m sure he wishes he didn’t know me or whatever. Ugh. I don’t like thinking about him like this. I just get the feeling he’s doing the same – as if his negativity might be combatted by my negativity. Which is stupid. I’m hopeful, though. I don’t get to be petty often.

I used to have an ideal vision of what fights would be, I guess. Like in movies when the star-studded couple have conflicting dreams in Hollywood and one of them misses the other one’s big break and fucks everything up. I’ve always had quips planned for that, ways to still be the reasonable one even after I’ve done the unimaginable. Sure, I’ve already lost my chance at being the reasonable one. But, you know, what else could I have done in this situation? I wasn’t going to claim responsibility! Wasn’t me. He was probably going to leave anyways.

Lucy jumps off the couch and stands in front of the door again. I try not to get my hopes up – she does weird things sometimes. Sure, last time she did this, Ryan pulled into the driveway. But that could have been chance. I stay on the couch. Maybe her weird little gift only works when I’m there to witness? I’m not ready to see him yet.

I hear a car door close. Fuck.

I can see his silhouette walking up to the front door through the blinds. Fuckfuckfuck. There’s a moment where I wonder if I should pretend to sleep but that’s stupid. I’ll just wait until he knocks. That gives me some time. For what? I don’t know. I don’t have anything planned.

Lucy barks once at the door as Ryan approaches. He doesn’t knock for a moment. I wonder if he’s just going to leave. Then he knocks.

Lucy looks at me, waiting for me to… fulfill whatever prophecy she’s created here. Ugh.

“Alright,” I say, pushing myself to stand. I stretch my arms over my head. I haven’t moved in a good while. I walked over here after I fed Lucy this morning, that was… what, ten hours ago? “You’re my good luck charm, aren’t you?”

She winks at me – _she winks at me?? –_ before slowly wandering off. Leaving me alone. That’s so her.

I open the door. The sun from outside stings my eyes so I hold a hand up to block it. Through the light, I see Ryan has a backpack. His lips are pressed together. Why does he have a backpack?

“It wasn’t you,” he says.

I nod once. I know that. He looks at his feet. I lean in the doorway. Maybe I wait for something else. I don’t want to assume that the bag means he wants to stay again. He might be here to pack up what little things he does have here.

“I’m…” I wait for the _sorry_ , but he seems scared of that word for some reason. Instead, he adjusts his bag on his back. “I guess I… I _wanted_ it to be you just so that I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else. Because I solved it when it was _you_ , I guess. I’m afraid I won’t be able to solve it a second time. Or something.”

I think I understand. I’ve been panicking for the past few days, I’m now sure that he’s done the same. I’m still going to wait for an apology, though. It’s been a week, Ryan. I never realized how smothered he is by his own pride. Very police-department of him.

He shifts. He seems to be waiting for me to say something. C’mon, Ryan. You’re so close.

“You’re _really_ done, aren’t you.” Our eyes meet for the first time. His shoulders go lax, his bag falling by his feet. He lunges forward, his arms around my waist and his head against my chest. It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. “I’m so sorry, Shane.”

There we go. I hug him back, one hand on the back of his head. I missed him. Like, the entire time. I’m not going to say _it’s okay_ , because I’m still a little sour about this. But I just say, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He clutches at my shirt, fingers tangling into the fabric in the center of my back. I don’t know when he’s going to let go. Will he, ever? Do I want him to? “Fuck, Shane, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“I know,” I say, and it feels sort of _good_ to say it. Of all the times we’ve talked about this sort of thing, Ryan has always had the higher ground. Now _I_ do, even if I don’t deserve it. “I get why you didn’t… uh, initially.”

“Like I said, I thought this was gonna be easy.” He releases me, stepping back. He bends down to grab his bag. “But you _were_ making it easy, you were doing better and I just…”

“Come in,” I say. It’s _so hard_ not to say ‘it’s fine,’ you know? That’s always the easiest thing to say in these situations. Something simple just to throw out when you feel overwhelmed. But it’s _not._ I get the feeling that he knows it isn’t as he steps inside, bag held to his chest. “You need anything? Coffee, or…”

“Just you,” he murmurs which is _exactly_ the answer I wanted. This is terribly awkward. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking around as if he’s searching for changes in scenery. Nothing has changed. I think he knows that. He sighs. “I… can you forgive me? Are we… are we _okay_ , are we gonna… can we still…?”

I get what he’s saying. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

He nods curtly. He’s still searching for something. “Okay. I… okay. Are you… can I still…”

Stay here? “Stay here? Yes.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

This is so fucking _awkward._ What do I even do to make this normal again? Is it even my job to make it normal again?

“You can sit, Ryan. I know this is weird, but I’d like to go back to normal.” Communication is key. I’m killing this. Look at me, being the pragmatic one! Look at me!

He blinks at me. I think he wasn’t expecting me to say that. I’m glad. I don’t usually like when people underestimate me, _however…_ this is my time to shine.

I hold my hand out to take his bag, which he gives me willingly. He seems more nervous with his hands free so, in turn, he does sit on the couch.

Ryan rubs his palms on the front of his pants as I hang his bag on the coat rack I seldom use.

“Even if you did do it, I was still gonna come back,” he says. I slip my hands into my pockets as I stare at him. He looks really tired. “I mean, I didn’t know what I was going to say but I still want to be with you. I don’t know what that makes me but I don’t care.”

I hum. I lean on the loveseat that’s closest to me. I like this dynamic we’re wearing right now. I have control again and I might be a little drunk on it.

He thinks for a moment before speaking again. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say. “I just. Hm. I don’t know how to say this and I’m not sure if I should but, granted, I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“Me neither,” I offer a smile. He reciprocates the action.

“Right. Right, you’re right.” I like the way he runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m scared of a lot of things and yet I’ve never once been scared of you. How does that work?”

“The beauty of a dress shirt and a big dog.” I shrug.

“No, it’s more than that. I’ve been having trouble sleeping the past few nights without you, like I can’t… I can’t _rest_ when I’m not with you. And I want you safe and I want _you_ , even after I learned things about you. Even though I still don’t know enough.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “You were… covered in blood and all I could think was…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. I want him to finish the sentence.

I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair. “I can’t sleep without you either.”

Not a second passes before he finishes the sentence: “I love you.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh my God.

It’s happening. It’s really happening.

“You do?” My voice cracks. My world is falling apart in the best way. “Really?”

He saw me covered in blood and thought he _loves_ me? Jesus Christ. I’m hesitant to believe in soulmates, but…

“Yes, Shane.” He falls back into the cushions, looking up. His arms are by his sides, limp. He does look super tired. “God. I can’t even explain it. Like, as soon as I saw you, I knew I’d be in love with you.”

“Me too.” I can hear how bashful I sound. So he _has_ been thinking about me this whole time. “Are you… are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be more sure if I tried.”

“Huh.” I don’t know what to do. He’s so far away. Should I approach? He looks so _tired,_ so _exhausted_ by the concept of loving me _._ I don’t want to, I don’t know, initiate anything if he’s still struggling with this. “Well. I… I love you too, and I… I think you look like you need a nap.”

He nods tiredly. Cute. I nod once and walk over. I don’t even process the thought before I begin to put it into action.

“What are you doing?” He asks. I bend over and hook my arm under his leg, behind his back. “ _What are you doing?_ ” I lift him up and he clutches my shirt. I didn’t have any time to doubt my strength, but this is going pretty well. _“Shane.”_

“Shhhh,” I say. My face is stretched into a smile, I can feel it. “I’ve got ya.”

I’ve never carried anyone… uh, in my life. Maybe a baby when I was in high school and I had to go to the family reunions. That doesn’t count, I don’t think. Ryan seems to want to escape but he just lays in my arms, waiting to be set down wherever I decide.

“You been at work?”

“Constantly,” he mutters, resting his head against my chest. I nudge the door open with my foot. Lucy sits up on the bed, tail wagging when she sees us enter. “We don’t even know where to start with this. We were all celebrating with the Miller success and this all kinda… knocked us off our feet.”

“You’ll get back on the right track.” I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what he needs to hear. And, frankly, I’m distracted by Ryan in my arms, all curled up. I don’t want to put him down. I feel like the strongest person in the world. I bend down and set him down (albeit, awkwardly) on the bed.

Ryan starts laughing as Lucy immediately crawls toward him, licking his face. He gives her a pat before sitting up and pulling his shoes off. Lucy huffs and lays down, upset by the lack in attention.

I just stand, my hands on my hips. I don’t want to leave, but he might just want to rest in peace. I don’t know. Our momentum has been interrupted for sure. I was comfortable enough to ask him if he wanted to live with me a few days ago and now I’m not sure if I can bring myself to ask if I can stay in my own bedroom.

“You’re staring again,” Ryan says, falling back onto the bed and sticking his legs under the blanket. My bed looks normal again with him in it. He turns his head to look at me.

“Didn’t notice,” I say. I clear my throat. “Well, I’ll… I’ll let you rest.”

Ryan hums and closes his eyes. Okay, well. I have a lot of questions and a lot of emotions that will just go unresolved for now. I back out of the room, patting my leg. Lucy hops down from the bed to follow.

I open the back door before putting food in Lucy’s bowl. I don’t feel like walking her right now. I don’t know if that makes me a bad dad, but hey. We all have our off days, right? I just got Ryan back, I’m not going to leave.

After a few minutes of watching Lucy run around the backyard, I return to my place on the couch. My mind is swimming. Ryan said he loves me. What a day. My self-concept is all over the place.

As soon as I pick up the remote, I hear my phone buzz on the table. I almost jump at the sound. There are very few options as to why I’m getting a call. Most of them are worrying. I flip the phone over with my finger. It’s… Ryan?

I answer the call. “Uh. Hi?”

 _“Hey,”_ he says. I can also hear his voice from down the hall. _“Where are you?”_

“Living room?” I laugh a little. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

_“I mean. I could probably sleep better if there was someone else in here. I don’t know. Maybe someone I love, or something.”_

I toss my phone on the couch beside me before sprinting down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also - 50,000 WORDS???? this is the longest fic i've ever written oh nooooooooooooooooo. this is really long uh my bad.


	19. Chapter 19

I sit against the headboard and watch Ryan button up his shirt. He accidentally woke me up by falling out of bed (hilarious) but I’m glad to be awake. He clearly needed someone to talk to, pacing around as he dresses and mumbling to himself – well, to _me_ , now.

“I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to pull this off a _second_ time,” he makes that face people make when they’re focused on tying a tie, “You know? I mean, they might not accept _this_ story. It’s easier to just say it’s the same guy.”

“But it isn’t, so.” I raise my eyebrows, “You’ll convince them. People love imposter stories, Ry.”

“Maybe so.” His hands disappear past the waistband of his pants as he tucks his shirt in. It’s sort of… mesmerizing? I drag my eyes away, back to his face. I don’t think he saw me. His mind is elsewhere. “Local news is always so unwieldy. Inconsistent.”

“But that’s the thing. They love to flip-flop on things and they _love_ imposters. I feel like I have to emphasize that.” I cover my shoulders with the blanket. It’s _cold_ in here. “It’ll be fine. You said it before, I’m pretty lucky… in weird ways.”

He chuckles at that. He sits on the edge of the bed to pull his shoes on. I just sit and watch. This feels odd, to watch him like this, but he seems to not mind it. As soon as he’s finished, he turns to look at me. It’s nice. The momentum has continued. It’s almost as if nothing happened – but there’s comfort in the fact that we both know something _did_ happen. That’s good. Crazy, but good.

Ryan kisses me on the cheek. He lingers. “Thank you, Shane.”

“For what?” My face is definitely red. I can feel it.

“Hm, good question.” Another kiss on the cheek. “You gonna watch me, then?”

“On the news?” I hadn’t considered that. I should. I want to. “Yeah, actually. I’d like that.”

“My good luck charm.” He winks at me, immediately recoiling from himself. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“I liked it, actually.” I offer a shrug. It seems to relax him slightly. “No worries.”

He nods at that. And again. Then he crumbles, shoulders rounded. “They’re not going to _believe_ me, Shane.”

“Yes, they are. You know something they don’t know,” I say. I try a comforting smile.

“Which is?”

I look down at myself. He seems to understand.

“Right.” He smiles at me, a nervous sort of smile. I’ll take it. He stands. “Well. I’ll be home later tonight. Let me know how I look.”

“You got it.” I give him a salute that I regret as I’m doing it. I guess that makes us even for the wink he gave me. “Be safe.”

I drag myself out of bed after a few minutes of staring at the door he left through. I wish today was one of my motivated days. I wish today was a lot of things. It’s about six when Ryan is supposed to be on, so I have time to shower and get myself together. Lucy paces around the kitchen waiting for me to feed her. I should probably take her on a walk today. I’ve been barely moving for the past week.

“It’s alright,” I tell her. She isn’t paying attention, moseying her way toward her food bowl. Eh, whatever.

I haven’t watched the news in a hot second. It’s odd. I forgot how palpable the tension is between the anchors. Weird to think they’re all married to different people. Frank and Holly can’t keep their eyes off of each other. She just giggled after her piece on homelessness in the city simply because Frank _looked_ at her. I mean, c’mon.

I wait patiently through three ad breaks. Every time they mention Ryan’s name before they go to the break – _Coming up, Detective Ryan Bergara on the newest developments regarding the Foster City murders –_ I, despite myself, get a little proud. He’s a figure of the community, people look to him for comfort and safety. How lucky am I? I get more comfort and safety than all of them.

The logo pops back on screen with some cliché breaking news music. I wonder where they’re getting their budget.

Frank pops back on screen. Good ol’ Frank.

_“There are fears that a serial killer continues to be on the loose in Santa Monica. Police are warning people not to walk alone at night in the area.”_

Okay… uhhhh, this sounds pretty familiar.

_“While Dan Miller, the original culprit of the Foster City murders, remains behind bars… the discovery of yet another body on Thursday night has stirred the pot of public opinion, so to speak.”_

Now we’re getting into new territory. Thank God.

_“More on this story, Tammy Watford with local detective Ryan Bergara – what are you hearing, Tammy?”_

Finally. Finally, it’s his turn. I miss him.

He’s wearing his little uniform, today. I haven’t seen him wear it in person so far, which is crazy. I’ve only seen his badge in person. That was a rough day, early in our relationship. Too early to… ugh, _ravage_ him, or whatever.

I don’t focus on what he says. I know I’m supposed to, but I know the gist of things. I think I hear Tammy mention a _wrong bus._ I’m zoning out on the pixels that assemble to make his face. I know a few things. I know that I was the original monster and that I’m reformed. I know that Ryan still loves me. I know that Ryan has helped me more than I’ll ever be able to thank him for.

 _“What steps have you taken to remedy this, so far?”_ Tammy holds the microphone toward Ryan. I can see him bite the inside of his cheek before smiling in that _comforting_ way.

_“We’re already in communication with Foster City about next steps. There isn’t much I can disclose at the moment but I can say that both of our departments are in agreement that the recent event was not connected to Dan Miller.”_

Nice, Ryan. Great job. Leave them wanting.

Tammy thanks Ryan for his time, her hand on his shoulder. When the screen returns to the studio with Frank and Holly, I catch a glimpse of Holly’s loving stare toward the side of her co-anchor’s face. Adorable. I switch the TV off and shoot Ryan a text – _you were great._ Short and sweet. He sends a heart emoji back – probably because he’s busy.

Despite sleeping pretty well, I’m still exhausted. I’m exhausted by the thought that we’re not done with this yet. I’d like to think that they’ll get this guy, but then I’m not an optimist.

I walk Lucy, finally. It only took a few hours to build the courage to go outside. Today’s just one of those days. You know? Am I alone in this? Do you ever get those days where nothing’s happening but it _feels_ like you’re five steps away from the implosion of your universe? Probably not, right? I feel particularly heavy today, like something’s sitting on my shoulders.

I mean, otherwise… I feel great. Ryan and I are on good terms, we’re on track for some big relationship changes. Mara’s going to let me start working again in the next week or so. My conscience is on its way to being clear. So why is it so hard to be a person today?

Maybe I need to switch it up, or something. Make a major life change. Hm. Much to think about.

Before I can come up with a list of changes to make (as previously mentioned, I’m a sucker for a list), I turn the corner of the street to find Ryan pulling into the driveway. He’s early. I begin to feel concern bubble up in my stomach. Lucy begins to sprint in the direction of Ryan’s car, making me stumble after her.

Ryan peeks his head over the roof of the car as he stands, smiling at the sight of Lucy dragging me to see him. He doesn’t look upset or mad or anything, just Ryan. I was expecting late nights from now on.

When we get close enough, Lucy gets a pet and I get a tight hug. I’m still confused.

“What’s up?” I say as he lets go of me to lock his car. The window’s still fucked and the key fob doesn’t work. We need to get his car checked out soon. “Home so early.”

“You were right. Everyone loves the concept of an imposter, so Miller remains in custody.” He shrugs, taking my hand. Lucy pushes her wet nose between our hands and I make a face. “Plus, I’ve been given the night off. Not sure if that’s a good thing, but. I’m home tonight, gotta go back in early tomorrow.”

“I wish I’d known that before now, I would have planned something.” I would have.

“Nah.” He breaks our hands to pet Lucy before linking our arms. I missed him so much. It hasn’t even been four hours yet. “I think I’d like to just _become one with the couch_ tonight, you know?”

“Absolutely.” We’re on the same wavelength. “I don’t feel like a human today.”

Ryan looks at me, “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I mean – “ Maybe that was too deep, or something. Maybe it’s scary to hear an ex-murderer say he doesn’t feel human. Probably. Backpedal. Backpedal! “I mean. Like. Uh.”

“Are you okay?” Ryan continues to walk, pulling me (and, I guess, Lucy) along. He scans my face. “What’s going on?”

“I…? I don’t know. Sorry.” Fuck! “Just hard to get moving today, I guess. That’s why I said that. Like, I’d love to become, uh, one with the couch. With you.”

He smiles. The concern lingers in his eyes for a moment but he blinks it away. “Thank God. I’ll make some popcorn.”

I nod once. He holds the gate open as we enter. I unhook Lucy’s lead and unclip the harness. She takes off through the backyard.

Ryan kicks his shoes off on the back porch, walking inside only to collapse on the couch. I hesitantly follow. He’s incredibly cute like this, sprawled across the cushions. I’m not sure what to do. Despite the oddness of his position, he looks comfortable. I don’t want to _move_ him.

He mutters something into the cushion. I sit on the ground next to him. It’s awkward and probably not what I’m supposed to do, but I do it anyway. Just to sit close to him.

“What was that?” I ask. My voice is so soft that I smile when I hear it. Funny, the moments where you realize how fucking whipped you are. How you speak to a person you love when you aren’t paying attention.

He turns his head to the side to face me. His cheek is smushed against the fabric. Incredibly adorable. “I love you,” he says.

I lean my back against the coffee table, crossing my legs into a basket as I face him. My heart is beating so fast, I feel it in my ears. “I love you too.” He looks so tired. I watch his eyelids flutter closed. “You tired?”

“Mhm,” he hums. God, how did I get so lucky? I get to just _look_ at him. After all I’ve done. I get _this._ I get moments like this.

“You want me to carry you agai – “

“Don’t you dare.” His eyes fly open again. He grins at me, pushing himself to sit. He crosses his legs like mine, looking down at me. “What are you doing down there?”

“Didn’t wanna move you.” It sounds even dumber when I say it.

Ryan rolls his eyes and pats the couch next to him. I crawl up and fall into my spot by his side. He leans into me. It’s the best feeling in the world. It’s good to feel wanted, you know? I feel him kiss my neck and I suppress the want to jump ten feet in the air.

I look down at him – is it weird to love _looking_ at a person this much? – and he’s scanning over my face again. What is he looking for? I wait for him to say something, but there’s nothing. He’s just looking back.

I surprise myself with my own voice. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Ryan makes a face like he doesn’t believe me. But how couldn’t he? “Shane.”

“What?” I turn slightly to face him. He keeps his head on my shoulder, head tilted upwards. For a moment, I forget I can just _kiss_ him whenever I want. Then I remember. And I do. “Of all the people you could have chosen, Ryan. I turned up and you _still_ chose me. Even after everything I’ve done. That’s the real luck.”

He pushes my chest. I pretend to fall backward. “Not luck. Just… uh, _charm._ ” He winces at the word. “I don’t know. I’ve never… until you, I never did stuff like this?”

“Date?”

“ _Wink_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “Or… or say _charm._ Or hold hands or hug or anything. And I watched you walk past my house – “

“You _watched_ me?”

“Of course I watched you!” He takes my hand in his and turns it around with his fingers, searching for some sort of switch or button. “You were hard to miss.”

“Hey.” I snatch my hand back but he slowly retrieves it, laughing to himself.

“I watched you walk past the house and all I wanted to do was meet you. I didn’t know why or what was happening to me, but you were just so… you.” He raises my hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the pad of my middle finger. This is like a movie scene. I’m trying to take everything in. “And I thought… y’know, I wanna know your name and I want you to know _mine_ , and I’m an adult and there’s no reason for me to feel like that. But I did.”

“I did too,” I say, perhaps a bit too wantonly. He brings my palm to his face, just holding it there. “But I couldn’t… I didn’t want to, uh, initiate because… well. I had done the things I’d done, and I didn’t want to get close to you when I knew I’d lose you just as fast.”

“So you waited for me, then.”

“Yeah.” I nod once. I can’t tell him about the objectives. I can never tell him about that. “And I thought I’d have to wait a lot longer, and then you showed up on my doorstep.”

He hides his face with my hand. It’s so funny, how he gets fixated on my hands. For someone who doesn’t like holding hands, he does like to hold _my_ hands.

Ryan sighs, long and heavy. He kisses my fingers again. I don’t understand, but it doesn’t make my stomach feel any less fluttery. He lets my hand go.

“There’s just something about you. I couldn’t get you out of my fucking head, Shane, I just…” He turns to face me, legs still crossed, resting his head on the back of the couch. He does like to do that. “So, yeah, I looked you up. And I thought that was _crazy_ of me to do. And I knew I shouldn’t, but I talked to Jackie about you… just… _constantly._ ”

“I talked to Lucy about you,” I offer. He grins.

“I guess… hm.” He has something to say, he just doesn’t know how to say it. I give him time. That’s all I have. “Over time, as we talked more… uh, I started seeing the clues. About you. Uh. What you did.”

I grimace.

“But I thought, you know… ‘no,’ right? Like, ‘of all the people I could feel this way for, the first in… years, it wouldn’t be someone who did something like that.’ And I held onto that for awhile.”

He can’t even say the word _murder._ That’s odd. Like he’s being fragile with this. That’s kind.

Ryan clears his throat to continue. “You moved here from Foster City. You fit the descriptions that they’d gathered. Hell, Jackie started to fit you to the profile and I… I didn’t have anything to say because, I think… like, deep down, I fucking knew it. I didn’t, but now… thinking back, I _must_ have.” He lifts a hand to play with my hair. I can’t help it – I close my eyes. It’s nice, what can I say? No one’s ever played with my hair before. “But not once… never once did I stop and _actually_ feel scared. Or… or anything other than the stupid crush I had built. And that was… that was…”

“Yeah,” I say. Scary. Where is all of this coming from?

“And you told me you were interested in me and I panicked and I left and then, the next morning, a body turns up?” He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, one by the nape of my neck. “I marked it a coincidence. And then I kissed you.”

“You did.” I’m wondering what’s going on. My stomach sort of… hurts? I’ve thought about what I’ve done a lot. I’ve never thought about what it did to Ryan – at least, not this much.

He smiles a little bit. I hesitate to call it a rueful smile. “You know, when I found out for _real…_ and I – remember, when I screamed at you?”

I laugh, mostly because I really do. I remember the terror I felt. It wasn’t funny at all. I do remember when he asked whose blood it was and I said it wasn’t mine. That was actually pretty funny. “Yes, I do.”

“I wasn’t even scared then.”

Okay, _now_ I’m laughing. It’s more of a scoff, actually. “You said you were.”

“I thought if I said it, I would be.”

I don’t believe him. “I don’t believe you.” I mimic his position, my chin resting on the back cushion. “You couldn’t even stand to look at me, Ryan. C’mon, now.”

“To be fair, you were covered in blood. I wasn’t prepared to see you like that.” He blinks a few times, no doubt reliving something. I know I am. “I’ve never screamed like that in my life, I just thought… I don’t know, I thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

God. He’s as lost as I am. What are the chances?

“I didn’t make it easy,” I tell him. I know that much.

He shrugs. “Neither did I.”

“Don’t make this a competition,” I say. I reach for his hand and, though he does seem to hesitate, he lets me take it. Progress. “I think I’ll win, here.”

“I can’t help it.” He stares at our hands. “I’m… I guess I’m just saying that you’re not _lucky_ , I’m just… I’m just obsessed with you, basically.”

I roll my eyes, like his words don’t send a lightning bolt right through my chest.

I don’t know where it comes from, but the urge to pull him onto me just kind of appears out of thin air. So I do. I lean forward to hug him to my chest and lay back on the couch. He squirms, saying something along the lines of _what the fuck, Shane!_

“I’m obsessed with _you_ ,” I repeat, tangling my fingers in his hair. He burrows his nose in my neck, not trying to escape. I kiss him on the forehead because it feels _right._

I don’t care what he says. I’m lucky as fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love soft content.


	20. Chapter 20

Ryan doesn’t ask the question for about three days, which is pretty surprising.

I hadn’t expected him to ask anything. I didn’t know what the question was going to be, really. I was constantly thinking about the imposter, don’t get me wrong, but there were other things on my mind. Mara finally let me enter the coffee shop with the intention of letting me actually do things. I now work from six to nine which isn’t ideal, but I’m _working_ which is important. My eye is so close to being normal – I’m allowed to work register from eight to nine as long as I wear my glasses. Eh. I’ve no one to impress, here.

We were back to our normal schedule, where I would bring him coffees after work and I’d hang out with him until he was done. Just for moral support. I started noticing that he’d start sentences and not finish them, a harsh contrast from his usual start-a-sentence-that-lasts-twenty-minutes situation I was more familiar with. Questions, too. He’d start them and fade off with a hasty glance to me, as if he was keeping a secret.

I’d smile and say, “What?”

And he’d shrug and go, “Nothing. Ignore me.”

I could deal with it, sure. Anything for Ryan. He was in over his head, and he still is. I didn’t think anything of it for those three days. Just him being frazzled and overwhelmed.

Then, tonight, it kind of all comes together.

I slip into the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, still nursing my iced coffee (that’s turned into coffee-flavored water at this point, but I don’t care). I don’t know how I’ve made it last this long. Maybe I was too busy staring at Ryan and waiting for him to ask me a question. I really like staring at him. I’ve told you that before, but it’s important.

He chews on the inside of his lip the entire way home. I don’t know when I started calling my house _home_ for the both of us. Hm. It isn’t a long drive, so it isn’t particularly painful. I don’t mind the silences, usually. Sometimes he just doesn’t feel like talking. I get that. It’s just – there’s something _clearly_ bothering him. So, when is he going to talk about it?

Communication is _key,_ Shane. The days are gone of waiting around for someone else to initiate these conversations. I’m an adult.

“Something bothering you?” I ask quietly as we step out of the car. I look at him over the roof of his car.

He hums something, akin to a _no_ , and locks the car with his key. The locks inside clunk. He walks around the hood to unlatch the gate. I almost forget to follow him. He’s so zoned out that it’s contagious.

“Hey,” I say, slowly catching up to him. He always holds the gate for me like a gentleman. Very sweet. “I mean. It’s clear that you’re thinking about something. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but… uh.”

He smiles at me. “S’fine. Thank you.”

I nod, reaching into my pocket for my keys. I sort through them faster than I ever have. Hunger is eating me inside out. I should have grabbed something to eat today. I don’t… I don’t think I ate anything today. Holy shit.

“Do we have mac’n’cheese?” I ask, struggling with the lock. I can hear Lucy sniffling at the lock on the other side. “It’s me, Lucy.” The sniffing stops.

I hear Ryan yawn over my shoulder. “I think so. I bought a bunch after you said you were on a mac kick.”

Oh, yeah! “Oh, yeah!” I get a little bit more energy into my body thinking about mac. “Do you want any? Did you eat today?”

“Yeah. Probably too much, actually.” Ryan steps into the house, shedding his jacket. As he flicks on the light, realization dawns on his face. He turns to me. “Shane, did _you_ eat today?”

“No, I think I forgot.”

It's all very sudden. Ryan guides me to the couch, his cold hand in my cold hand, pushing me to sit. “Jesus, Shane. That’s not good for you.”

“I didn’t do it on _purpose_!” I try to stand again but Ryan gives me a look. I relax. “Fine.”

“I’ll make some macaroni. Are you feeling dizzy?”

“No?” I don’t think so. I did almost fall over earlier, but I’m generally clumsy. “I’m _fine._ ”

“You stay put.” Ryan points at me. I nod once. Lucy jumps up on the couch beside me and I busy myself by petting her. She seems to be indifferent to the affection, but she’s started doing that recently. Pretending like she’s not having the time of her life. “I can’t believe I didn’t get you anything to eat.”

“You’ve never gotten me anything before,” I offer, though it doesn’t sound as comforting as I mean it to sound. “But that’s – I meant, like, it’s okay.”

“God, I’m a shitty boyfriend,” Ryan says from the kitchen. I hear the stove click on, hear the rattling of dry pasta in a cardboard box.

“What?! No.” I stand up too fast and fall right back down onto the couch. Lucy crawls onto my lap. “Need I remind you, I have killed people?”

“That’s just a testament to how terrible _I_ must be.”

“Ryan,” I roll my eyes. He enters the living room with a glass of water in his hand.

“Drink this,” he says. I take it in my hands. “I’m sorry, Shane.” His face really does look upset. Why? “I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?”

I shake my head, standing. Ryan doesn’t push me down this time, maybe because I’m holding a glass of water. “What are you _talking_ about, Ryan? Sincerely. You’re making me mac right now and you drove me to work and you sleep next to me and you’re wonderful.” I might be a little dizzy.

“I don’t need to go back over the list of times I’ve mistreated you, do I?”

What the fuck is he even talking about? The walking home thing? “Mistreated is a very strong word.”

“Not quite.” He tries to maneuver me back into a seated position, but I refuse. I follow him into the kitchen. “You keep talking about how you’re worse because you killed people but at least you’ve gotten better.”

I still don’t understand why he’s so obsessed with comparing himself to me like that. “Is this what you were stressing about today?”

“No. No… well, not actively.” He has a hand on his hip as he watches the boiling water. “It’s something else.”

“Okay.” I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. “Well?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell you.”

“Hm. Worrying.” I set my water on the counter.

“No, just.” He picks up the box and pours a mountain of noodles into the pot. “It isn’t bad…well. It shouldn’t be bad, really, I just…”

I move to stand behind him. I wrap my arms around his torso, hands resting on his stomach. I don’t get to stand like this with him as often as I would like. “Please.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan says. He rests his head against my chest. “You’re not feeling well, and – “

“I feel great. You’re makin’ mac, I’m on top of the world.” I kiss his cheek.

“I’d hate to do this,” he sighs.

“Do it.”

“I…” he rubs his eyes, turning around in my arms to look at me. “I think… I think I’m going to need your help. I need you to help me with this case.”

I blink. Oh. “M… me?” Why me? I guess I understand why, but… I don’t know. That’s really risky.

“I know you’re better now, and I hate to put you back into this sort of place, but you were in the mindset of someone like this. None of us are. We’ve never seen anything like this before,” Ryan reaches up, arms around my neck. Nice. Focus, Shane. “I don’t want to think he’s emulating you, but there’s no reasoning or evidence yet. They always leave something. You didn’t, he hasn’t.”

“Maybe…” My mind is fuzzy. “Maybe it’ll just be the one.”

“And maybe it won’t.”

I purse my lips. He pecks them before turning back around to stir. I place my chin on his shoulder again. I don’t know. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’d be helpful.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary.”

I take a deep breath. I watch as he takes the pot off the burner, reaching for the packet of, uh, ‘cheese.’ I love that stuff. I don’t care if it’s not cheese. We all know it isn’t. But it’s _fun._ He slips out from my arms and disappears down the hall, returning with a small pill in the center of his hand.

“What’s this?” I ask as he puts it in my mouth, guiding the glass of water to my lips.

“Vitamin. Should help with the dizziness.”

“M’not dizzy,” I say through the half-mouthful of water. He glares at me, so I swallow. “Thanks.”

He kisses me on the corner of the mouth which, _wow._ I wait for something else but he turns back around. He’s making me mac’n’cheese, right now. For me. I love him so much.

He doesn’t speak for a while, focusing. I don’t know if I should back off, leave him alone and stop hugging him, but I don’t _want_ to. I could have done this myself, actually. I feel bad. He’s got so much on his plate and I’m just adding to it. Damn it.

Ryan offers me the bowl of fake-cheese heaven. I let him go and lean against the counter to eat. I offer him a bite. He shakes his head, leaning on the stove with his arms crossed.

“So, will you?”

I hum. “Are you bribing me with mac’n’cheese?”

“I’m not bribing you with anything,” he laughs tiredly. He has that little look in his eye that makes me feel all gross and fluttery. Blegh. How dare he reduce me to a puddle. “I made you mac because I love you, and I’m now asking if you feel comfortable helping me with a murder case you didn’t commit but may have some part in.”

“Hm,” I say. I take another bite. I’m really hungry. “Do you think it would help?

He scoffs like he isn’t sure, but he says, “ _Yes._ ”

“Okay,” I say. I hold the bowl to my chest. Warm. “Then, fine.”

His eyes get a little brighter but he only nods like we’ve _made a deal_ or something. Whatever. I’m content with my macaroni.

I can’t sleep for some reason. I know I have to get up at an ungodly hour to accompany Ryan to work. I think Ryan brought some melatonin with him, I’ve seen it in the bathroom. But I just lay here, staring at the ceiling. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t have had coffee at ten at night. That was probably the first mistake.

What use am _I_ gonna be in this? I’m confused. Did Ryan tell other people that I was going to help? Probably not. I don’t have any expertise, not in their minds. Is this a secret? I want to ask him, but he’s snoring quietly beside me. I reach over to my phone. I squint at the light. It’s four. We leave in two hours. Fuck.

I open my Notes app to jot down a few questions.

_Do they know I’m helping you?_

_Is this a secret?_

I guess that’s the same question as the last one. I’m tired. I think I overestimated how many questions I had. Those two certainly felt weighty in my head. Oh, one more.

_What if I mess up?_

That’s certainly a concern. I’m still not sure that this is going to be a _serial_ thing. Maybe it’s just a coincidence? Coincidences don’t exist, but… maybe… in this _one_ scenario, they do. They’ve only found one. Sure, it was nearly identical to my mistakes, but hey. People are cruel sometimes.

I end up getting up, sleepless. Ryan hums in his sleep but doesn’t move. Very cute. I’m almost tempted to wake him up – like he’s woken me up several times in the past, ahem – but I feel like it would be out of line. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get past the hurdle I face in that way. If anything could possibly be an inconvenience to Ryan, I often try to avoid that. Even the small things like this. It shouldn’t matter, and yet. And yet!

I make breakfast – like, a real one. With effort. Beyond cereal. It feels good. That helps me sort of place myself back into a human place. Does… does making breakfast count as self-care? Probably not, right? Since it’s… a necessity, or something. Lucy wakes up and comes over to see what I’m making. I toss her a piece of bacon with her breakfast because I’m the cool sort of dad.

Getting dressed is definitely paramount, but I don’t want to wake Ryan up. I end up sneaking back into the room and grabbing some clothes as quietly as possible before leaving to get dressed in the living room. Is it over the top? For sure. But my heart rate increases at the thought of waking him up. Not sure why. He wouldn’t _do_ anything. He might be grumpy, but that’s about the end of it. Still.

I watch the first thirty minutes of _There Will Be Blood,_ steadily working on getting my breakfast inside my body, before Ryan stumbles out into the living room with wide eyes.

He points at me. “You.”

“… Yeah?” I set my half-empty plate on the table. I overestimated my ability to eat right now.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah!” I stand to greet him. The tiredness starts to seep in, but it’s too late for rest now so I’ll just deal with it.

He rubs his eyes. His pajama pants are low on his hips and he’s wearing another one of my shirts. This is great. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Do you want this?” I hold the plate up and he nods once, slowly walking over to me. He has a somewhat terrified look on his face for some reason. “What?”

“You could have, uh, woken me up,” he takes the plate from me, frowning. I like his morning voice a lot. I like him a lot.

No, I couldn’t have. “I didn’t think to do that, frankly.” Ha.

He makes a face, clearly thinking _yes, you did,_ but he doesn’t mention it. He just stands, swaying, eating. I turn the movie down. I’ve watched it thousands of times and I’ll watch it a thousand more times.

“You still okay to help me?” He shifts on his feet, placing the silverware in the center of the plate. It clatters. “You must be exhausted.”

“M’fine.” When I can’t sleep, I can lay in bed for days just thinking about how awake I am. As soon as I stand and get ready for the day? Fatigue gut-punches me. But whatever. “Anything you need.”

He hums. He doesn’t believe me. I’m going to try my best, though. Anything he needs.

“I’ll get dressed,” he says eventually, clearly not wanting to go at all. But that’s how it goes. He gives me another look over. “You’re so handsome.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I just shake my head and do one of those _oh, you!_ type gestures. I love him so much sometimes it makes it hard to breathe. He smiles at me over his shoulder and walks back down the hall.

We get to the office at six-thirty. The lights in the lobby are on, thank God. Ryan has his hand on my back and I think I tied my tie too tight? I don’t know why I put on a tie for this. I haven’t worn a tie in a long time.

“I like your little tie,” Ryan says as we step into the elevator.

“It’s not a _little_ tie,” I say. It sounds like I took offense. Maybe I did.

He smiles at me which tells me that he thinks it is a _little_ tie. Whatever. His tie’s a little tie. Because he’s little. Ha.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m pretty nervous. I’m nervous about questions. I’m nervous about my role here. I’m nervous about what comes next, really. About what happens when the elevator doors slide open and I have to talk to the others.

“Are they going to ask things?” That didn’t make a lot of sense. Let me try again. “The others. About me. Like, what I’m doing here.”

“Doubt it.” He shrugs, focusing his attention on the sleeve he’s rolling up. Very hot. “And if they do, I’ll answer. Don’t worry.”

“Not worrying.” That’s a lie. I don’t want to lie. “Just nervous.”

“Right, right.” He takes my hand without me prompting him to. It’s a victory, if just for a few seconds. He doesn’t like touching me in public usually. I guess I understand that. This is all new. “I know it’s nerve-wracking, but… uh. You’re not alone. And you’re a delight, anyway. They’re not gonna fuckin’… uh, interrogate you, or something.”

I nod. That makes sense. I need to stop finding ways to instigate my own anxieties. Ryan’s trying to comfort me, here. I should just let him. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Shane.” He squeezes my hand before he lets it go. “You’re really helping me out here. I love you.”

I’m wide awake. I wish I could hold his hand again, but the elevator is beeping and the cabin is slowing down. “I love you too.”

Brian – I still don’t know his name but Ryan and I just call him Brian at this point – greets us. He stands at his desk, running a hand through his hair as he smiles at us.

“Good morning!” He says.

“Morning,” Ryan says. I just smile in response. “How’s the day so far?” It’s interesting to see all the ways that people avoid saying other people’s names, right? How you can dodge that part of a sentence when you want to.

“Barely started, but I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” Bullshit, Brian. C’mon. He nods at me. “What brings you here today, Shane?”

“Here to help,” I say. I immediately look toward Ryan to see if that was okay. He doesn’t mind. Okay.

“Help?” Brian asks. It’s too early for this, Brian. We didn’t pick coffee up on the way over here. “With what?”

“I asked Shane to assist me with some of the details of the case.” Ryan’s voice is calm, still groggy from sleep.

Brian makes a face. Expected. “Assist how?”

It’s too early for this. Ryan seems to falter. I’m suddenly aware of the other officers in the room. An explanation comes out of nowhere in my mind, possibly an attempt at being charming.

“I’m certainly not the first choice here, but I majored in Communications and I love a good crime documentary.”

I hear Officer Turner laughing. She has one of those laughs you could pick out in a crowd, but I guess all laughs are like that. Brian’s face softens and he laughs as well. Crisis averted. Ryan tugs at my shirt, wearing a side-smile that I greatly appreciate, and we’re off down the hall.

“ _Very_ nice,” Ryan says as he unlocks the office. “Communications major, huh?”

“Yep. Wanted to put it to use, never got to.” I wanted to do a lot with my life, back then. Wanted to be a producer or something when I moved out here to California. What a joke that was, eh?

“And here you are.” He extends his arm. I enter his office and flick on the light. Glad to be back.

I settle in my seat. “Here I am!” I consider putting my feet up on the desk but I don’t want to overdo it. I’m already on a roll, no need to go overboard. Simplicity is crucial, sometimes. “So, what am I doin’, here?”

“Right. I was thinking I’d go over the details we have so far, some of the similarities, and we’ll go from there.” He flips his laptop open. Everything he does is so hot when he’s wearing a tie. That’s not relevant. Anyway. “I made a spreadsheet with some of the similarities – in the case and in the way everything has been reported so far. Some of them are… are striking.”

“Yeah?” I stand and walk around the desk. I rest my elbow on the back of his chair, looking over his shoulder. It’s a nice spreadsheet. Maybe he likes lists too. Match made in heaven.

Ryan highlights a couple rows worth of information. He turns his head to look at me. “I was looking at the news reports for the Foster City cases and the report they gave a few days ago. Some of the wording is nearly identical.”

“I did notice that,” I nod once. “I don’t know if that’s relevant to the imposter thing, though. News stations do love to recycle a good script.”

“I guess,” Ryan shrugs. He points at the screen. I lean closer to see. His brightness is pretty low. “They did give a pretty good case for why it could have been the original culprit. They did a lot of the work for me. Look,” he underlines part of a paragraph with his finger, “ _The seemingly random victim fits the profile previously identified of the Foster City killer, as well as the injury and situation surrounding the event._ ”

“That doesn’t really tell you much,” I say. I shot people. Randomly. That’s not too boggling.

“No, it’s the next part.” I wait for him to read it. “It says, _every victim was injured via a shot to the head and/or chest area following their boarding and exit from an incorrect public transport vehicle.”_

I scoff. I don’t mean to, it just kind of happens. Ryan looks at me, surprised.

“Oh. I mean.” I stick my free hand into my pocket, squinting at the words. “That… the whole _wrong bus_ thing… is ridiculous.”

“It’s definitely a string of coincidences I’ll never understand. Like, when you were still… you know. Did you notice that the people were off-kilter, maybe nervous because they boarded the wrong bus?” He seems so sure of himself. It’s kind of cute. That thought is condescending, I know it as I think it, but I stand by it.

“Oh, Ryan,” I pat his back. “There’s no such thing as coincidences and, more importantly, no such thing as the _wrong_ bus.”

He shakes his head, “There has to be.”

“They said it was the wrong bus four times, Ryan. This is the fifth. In the span of a year. In two nearby locations. These things aren’t correlated in any way.” _Correlated._ That’s a nice word to use if you’re trying to be smart. Go me. “They’re trying to diffuse it, right? Trying to make it seem like the reason why they were hurt is that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Ryan hums. “I guess… I guess that could make some sense. It is a weird detail to repeat, now that I think about it.”

“Most people are on the right bus. Everyone gets on the right bus, that’s the thing. So there’s nothing to worry about.” I’m so tired I can’t even filter my thoughts. I hope they make sense anyways. Ryan leans over to type something. I can’t see because it’s so damn dark. “I don’t know if that’s even relevant.”

“It is,” Ryan says, shortly. He finishes typing and turns to me. My elbow loses its rest and I almost fall over. I don’t though, thank God. “It’s _very_ relevant. This is more helpful than I would have hoped. I was going in the wrong direction, you rerouted me.”

He spins around in his chair, his hand on my thigh. I like when he praises me. “I like when you praise me.”

“I haven’t done it enough, clearly.” He squeezes my leg, looking up at me. I’m tempted to sit in his lap but… uhhhh… no. Not right now. Or, I don’t think he’d let me do that. Ever. Smother the disappointment, Shane. “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Is it? Is my sole purpose to help Ryan with a murder that I didn’t commit? That doesn’t make me feel great. I’m so dramatic today. It’s probably because I’m so tired.

“You’re here for more than that,” Ryan says. It’s like a cool drink of water to hear him say that. I love being validated. He opens his legs slightly and I stand between them. I’ve never wanted to sit on someone’s lap so fucking bad in my life. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Can’t,” I say. “I’m six foot four.”

Ryan fake laughs (which turns into a real laugh) and takes my hand, kissing the inside of his palm. He does that a lot. I love it. “Very funny, Shane.”

“Yeah, I’m hilarious.” I straighten my tie. Ryan laughs again. I like when he laughs at my bad jokes. “What’s next? I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing makes me feel more satisfied than writing a relationship where they communicate about things tbh. this was cathartic. 
> 
> excuse my mistakes it's five in the morning


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter marks 60k words! holy moly. that's a full on novel, i guess

I’m being shaken out of sleep and dragged out of bed at around four in the morning. Ryan’s telling me we have to go and my heart is beating fast – I don’t smell smoke, so where’s the fire?

I get dressed blindly. No time to struggle with my tie. Gotta go. I toe my shoes on and meet Ryan at the door. I notice that he fed Lucy in all the chaos and I have a _thank you_ on the end of my tongue, but he’s grabbing my arm and we’re out in the carport before I can even blink. I buckle myself in, watch Ryan walk around the back of the car to put something in the trunk. I’m getting that weird nervous feeling in my tummy again. Maybe that’s just hunger. Or both!

I wait until we’re halfway there to say, quietly, “So. What’s happening?”

“They found another fucking body this morning. On the border of Brentwood.” He rubs his left eye with his hand before returning his palm to the steering wheel, gripping too tight for me to bear. Another body, huh? Exactly five days after the first one. Familiar. “He’s moving. He’s moving into Brentwood.”

“He’s not moving,” I say. I can hear the way my voice sounds. I’m hesitant to say I sound grim.

“Looks a lot like he’s fucking moving.” Woah. Snappy.

“Hey.” I look over at him. He glances at me, exhaling. His features soften.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. He’s not moving.” I turn back to look through the windshield. He’s very touchy. “This guy got everything else right. The timeframe, the, uh, injury – I mean, except the gun. But he couldn’t have known better.”

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, shaking his head again. His left knee is shaking up and down. “He’s probably splitting town, Shane.”

“That’s what I’m _saying,_ though. He’s not gonna do that because he’s, I don’t know, copying me. Right?” I grip the door handle as we pull into the parking lot.

“I suppose.” He stops the car in front of the building, unclipping his office key from the keychain dangling from the ignition. He holds the key out to me, “I’m dropping you off, I have to go to the scene. You head up to the office. I don’t know how long it’ll be, but I know I’ll need your help when I get back.”

“Oh, alright.” I open the door, stepping out. I don’t wanna be alone! But I get why I can’t go. “Um. What do I do ‘til you get back?”

“My laptop password is on a sticky note in the top drawer of my desk. You can look through the document I showed you if you want. Or you could just sleep. I don’t care.” He leans over to look at me as I stand, running my thumb over the key that’s slowly warming in my hand. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” I say. I close the door and he blows me a kiss. It makes me feel a little better. I try to do the same but it fails. I can’t hear Ryan laugh but I see his shoulders shake a little as he pulls away. Okay. Just me now. I can do this. I stand in the parking lot, the heavy air seeping into my clothes, just staring at the empty street.

I step into the lobby. It’s dark again, figures. But I’m not hurting in any way and I’m able to push the elevator button myself. I’m pretty sure no one else is here right now, so. Maybe I shouldn’t be here so early, but I’m too tired to care. Is this a security concern? Isn’t there supposed to be security? Hm.

The elevator ride is lonely. Blegh. I wonder how Ryan’s doing. I hope he’s alright. I lean my back against one of the walls, watching the numbers climb slowly. Elevators are no fun alone. I miss Ryan. Ugh. I’m so _clingy,_ when did I become this monster?

Officer Turner is half-asleep at her desk when I walk onto the main floor. The overhead lights are off, her desk lamp illuminating her face and not much else. She sits up when she sees me, searching through the dark. I wait a few seconds before I make my presence known.

“Hey, Sandra.” I don’t know if we’re on a first-name basis but she doesn’t get upset. Instead, she stands and walks over to me, holding a hand out.

“Oh, Shane!” She smiles at me through the dark. I shake her hand. “What in the world are you doing awake?”

“Ryan got called into the, uh, scene,” I gesture over my shoulder as if the guy was murdered in the elevator. “I’m here for moral support when he gets back.”

“How sweet.” She releases my hand. “Do you need anything? Coffee or anything?”

“Hm. I don’t want to inconvenience you, but coffee would be great.” I usually wouldn’t ask but I have a feeling that the next few hours will be torture. “So sorry.”

“No apologies! Anything I can do. I know these hours can be difficult to manage.” She does that dismissive hand wave. “You go on to Bergara’s office, I’ll get it to you one way or the other.”

“Thank you so, so much.” I clasp my hands together, Ryan’s key hanging off my thumb, because it feels like a good thing to do. “How are you doing, by the way?”

She starts to head back to her desk, laughing a bit. “You know how it is.”

I don’t, but okay!

The hallway doors are always so loud when I push them open, but I figure it won’t last too terribly long. Not many people around to hear, so I shouldn’t mind. I use my phone flashlight as I walk through the dark hallway. I don’t know if I’m allowed to turn on the lights. I’m probably overthinking things. I love to do that, apparently.

I don’t think I’ve ever entered Ryan’s office without Ryan. I’m sorry in advance for what I’m about to say: it smells very Ryan in here. Like, his cologne and coffee and paper and comfort. I always assumed the reason it smelled that way was that Ryan was there, that makes sense. But nope. Same ol’ room.

I didn’t get a lot of time with Ryan today so far. The time between me waking up beside him and watching him roll out of the parking lot was very short. I’ve been spoiled with his time, so I have a good reserve. I’m excited for coffee, so I can focus on that for the next few hours.

It almost feels wrong to sit in Ryan’s chair. I do so anyway, though, because I’m a slut for a rolling office chair. That was probably intense. I’m _tired,_ okay? Usually, I’m able to pretend like I’m wide awake because Ryan’s here, but it’s just me. And I’m remarkably terrible at holding myself accountable for things. This is clear.

I stick the key into my front pocket with my right hand, pulling the top drawer open with my other one. The blue sticky note is placed in a compartment for pens. He has, like, hundreds of pens and yet I’ve only ever seen him use one. Just something to think about. Another odd detail in the file cabinet full of Ryan details that will go unexplained.

Ryan’s laptop is pushed to the corner of his desk, barely balancing on a stack of folders and one lukewarm desk-bump away from being pieces on his desk. I spend about five minutes tidying up the surface. I don’t know how he works in all this mess, frankly. He seems so organized everywhere else in his life except for his work environment. I’d expect more from a spreadsheets man.

The laptop’s lock screen is Lichtenstein’s Night Seascape. I don’t know if you’re familiar but, for some reason, I am. It’s all dark blue, patches of black and yellow and spotted red and white to assemble the ocean and moon and sky. It’s a thin work, unable to be cropped without taking an important detail out, so it holds a stripe of space down the middle of the screen pinned between the black empty space. I had this as my home screen in college. I was taking a Humanities class and we had to do an art critique. This was one of the works in the running. I remember it made me feel calm. It’s a very Ryan piece of artwork, in all honesty. I wonder how Ryan found it.

His password is roughly a million random digits long. I’m being hyperbolic, but… still. Security is important, sure, but my brain is having a hard time comprehending this right now. I fuck it up the first time but I really put in the effort the second time around. I can almost smell the gears in my head smoking. Do you think he has this memorized? Probably, not, right? Since he has it on a sticky note? I brush the blue piece of paper back into its home and close the drawer as the laptop’s fan wheezes, trying to wake up. Mood.

The documents are all still pulled up. The spreadsheets, the organized tables with color-coded titles. Very hot.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I retrieve it. Ryan has texted – _how are you doing? did you get settled?_

I send him a picture of his semi-tidy desk in response. It takes a few tries to get the exact picture I want, but no one can see me. I wanna get the pristine stack o’ folders in the frame. That’s my proudest achievement.

My Notes app is still open from the other day. I need to get better at dismissing some of my apps. Can’t be good for the battery. My questions are there, glaring at me. At least I have a few answers now, right?

 _Do they know I’m helping you?_ Kind of. Yes.

 _Is this a secret?_ Eh. Kind of. Yes.

 _What if I mess up?_ I can’t. That’s the end of that. I won’t and I can’t.

I delete the note and dismiss the app. It’s not helpful to dwell on questions like that. Not good for my brain. I’m already worried about everything else. One crisis at a time. This is why I panic constantly.

I don’t even know where to start with this. I don’t have an itinerary for today. I’m staring at thousands of pieces of information and I don’t even know where to start. Wait. Yes, I do.

I don’t know what Dan Miller looks like. It’s been a long time since I first heard his name and I don’t know what this guy _looks_ like. That’s important, right? To know what he looks like. I should give him that luxury, at least.

So I type his name into Google and I stare at the screen for a few minutes.

That… that can’t be right.

I look back at the documents. Ryan was kind enough to put together a list of all the times people tried to describe me. Tall drink of water, like Red. Mid-thirties. Ordinary. Thin. Kind eyes? That’s nice of them.

Dan Miller is shorter than Ryan. Dan Miller is very specific. He’s far older than me. He’s got particularly angry eyes.

In other words, he’s clearly not the killer. Someone who follows me as closely as this imposter does has to know that. He knows the killer’s still out on the loose. So, there’s a question there. Is he doing this to draw attention to that, or is he trying to get my attention?

I jump at the sound of a knock on the door. I look up. Ugh. Brian.

“Good morning,” he says. I see the coffee cup in his hands. “Brought your peace of mind in a cup.”

What an insufferable way to say that. I smile at him, holding my hand out as he offers it. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” I expect him to leave, but, of course, he doesn’t. He leans in the doorway. “So. You’re here to do Ryan’s job today?”

I’m not sure what tone he was going for. I’m gonna say he’s joking.

“Ah, no. Just keeping the seat warm, I guess.” That was probably weird. But whatever. It’s just Brian. “He said I could look through the details of the case, so I’m just browsing.”

“Gotcha.” This is awkward. Brian, go awayyyy. “I mean, you seem to be helping a whole bunch.”

“Luckily, this guy seems to be predictable.” I take a sip of coffee.

“Everyone was saying he was rather unpredictable before you came here.” Okay, he’s smiling. I shouldn’t take it as a threat. He’s smiling. “You’re a good luck charm, for sure.”

You’re the fucking secretary, Brian. Why are you talking down to me right now? What is going on? Not to shit on secretaries. Just this one in particular.

“Aw, thanks,” I say. I look back at the screen. I click the little icon in the corner to turn the brightness up. Ryan can deal with it. I wait for Brian to leave, but he stays. Ugh.

"So, you majored in Comm?" Brian asks, and I've never heard anyone say it like that before so I make a face. He clarifies. "Communications. Where'd you study?"

"Columbia College. Chicago." I set my coffee down and cross my arms over my chest. It's not like I really have anything better to do, but I _wish_ I did so I didn't have to talk to him right now. That's probably mean. He brought me a coffee, I should be nicer. But I don’t wannaaaaa.

"Oh, Illinois!" He claps his hands together. "Crazy. I didn't think you were from the Midwest, but now I can definitely see it."

"Born under the bean, what can I say?"

He laughs though he doesn't seem to really know what that means. I don't blame him. I don't hear other people say that. I say nothing, just letting him try to figure out what it means.

I hear the loud hallway doors echo. Brian almost jumps out of his khakis.

“Hey,” I hear a woman’s voice say. I recognize it. Who is that? “We’ve talked about this, bud.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he holds his hands up, stepping out of the doorway. I hear him say, “Bye, Shane!”

Jackie replaces him. Oh, thank God. She’s a real person. And Ryan actually likes her. She holds up a finger, waiting for the hellish door sound, before she speaks.

“Sorry about him,” she says in a whisper. Her shoes click on the way to sit in my usual spot, dropping her bag beside her feet. She smiles at me. I reciprocate – not forced, this time. “He loves to talk on the job.”

“Huh, I hadn’t noticed.” I laugh at my own joke. I’m so fucking funny. Jackie joins me, which is a relief. “No, yeah. It’s alright, just… uh, early.”

“I hope I’m not bothering,” she says. I shake my head so hard I feel dizzy. More coffee, I guess. “Sandra said you were here and he wasn’t at his desk, and I assumed.”

“No, no. Glad to talk to you,” I shrug my shoulders. “Not much to do for me. Just sitting, waiting. Organizing.”

“I _thought_ you had!” She runs her palm over the empty space on Ryan’s desk that she can reach. “Very nice. I’ve been needing him to do that for years, so it’s a good thing he’s got you.”

“Hope he feels the same.” I sway slightly in the chair. I don’t know what to say. She’s kind but… I guess, intimidating? Is that the right word? She isn’t _scary,_ I just want to impress her. But where to start?

I open my mouth to say something else but her eyes light up. “Oh!”

“Oh?” I say. She pulls her bag back into her lap. I’m nervous, I think.

“Some of the officers have been joking around about you being better at the job than they are, so we got you a little – “ she pulls out an oval-shaped gold object, “ – a little badge!”

I feel my heart skip a beat. Keep calm, Shane. Be cool.

“Wait, really?” She holds it out to me and I take it into my hands. It’s heavy.

“It isn’t real, obviously, but we just thought… you know. Something to remember us by, or something.”

“This is wonderful, Jackie.” I clip it to the pocket of my dress shirt. “I love it so much.”

“I’m so glad! It fits you.” She smiles, standing with her bag. “I’ll let you be, but I’ve just gotta thank you.”

I blink. “What?”

“For your help with the case and with Ryan.”

I chuckle a bit. The second part makes me laugh. _Me_ helping Ryan? She has it backwards. “I’m doing very little to help. Just moral support.”

She gives me a look. I know it’s a look of disagreement, but I know little else.

“You’ve helped Ryan more than anyone else could. On the planet. Believe me.” She points at me, smiling. Her hand falls. “Let me know if you need a refill on that coffee. I’ll send it a non-Brian route.”

So his name _is_ Brian! Hell yeah.

I wave to her before she leaves. I take a long drink of coffee, feeling the pressure of my badge against my chest. I feel like the king of the world. I might be, actually.

I check my phone. Ryan has sent several texts thanking me for the desk thing. A few more heart emojis. I love when he sends those.

I send a picture of my badge. _All in a day’s work for the sheriff._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. we've got a few chapters left. 
> 
> unfortunately, this close to the end of this, my brain has suddenly gone "hey!!!! here's another fic idea!!!!!" and it's interfering with my ability to write this as quickly as i'd like. 
> 
> i'm going to try to keep a steady pace on this - i will not allow myself to start this other fic without finishing this one. that is my promise!!!
> 
> hope you're doing alright! thank you for reading, again. :D


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more important conversations to be had in this chapter! and some closure!
> 
> (there's a long note at the bottom so be warned when you get there.)

Okay. Welcome back. So. I’m on the sidewalk, I think.

When did I get here? And what time is it? What the fuck? My chest is aching for some reason, I can’t figure out why. Did I get kidnapped or something? Did I fucking… sleepwalk out here? No, right? I ‘ve never slept-walk (Sleepwalked? Slept-walk?) in my life.

I went to bed beside Ryan, I know that. I was wearing a pair of soft pajama pants that Ryan ordered online but they were too long so I got them. They’re nice. I was wearing my Looney Tunes shirt (since I finally got it back, ha). I took a couple of those tabs of melatonin because my sleep schedule is fucked. Ryan told me I needed to take two because I’m gargantuan. That’s valid, I couldn’t even be mad.

I kissed him before we laid down. That was good. We’ve started doing the whole _goodnight kiss_ thing. Another cog in the machine of domestic bliss, I guess. Ryan was laying on his back, watching the ceiling fan, talking. I heard the transition in his voice from Awake to Sleepy, the way his words became slurred and soft. I love to see him like this. I like to hear him like this.

So what happened? I closed my eyes. I did what I was supposed to. I went to sleep and now…?

I look down at myself. I’m wearing a white dress shirt. Uhhhh. This is bizarre. I haven’t worn a shirt like this in a long time. Not since I soaked it in blood, probably. More importantly, Ryan’s not here. That doesn’t inspire confidence.

“Ryan?” I say, for good measure. No response. Fuck.

I turn around, trying to identify my surroundings. I remember that light pole. That house. My feet feel heavy. Everything is _heavy,_ like I’m not supposed to be here. Worse than morning air where I feel like the world is keeping me safe.

I know this place. This sidewalk. Uh. I can recognize the bushes beside me, the way they form a wall keeping me outside and in the open.

And then I hear those footsteps in front of me, those unmistakable footsteps, but there’s no one there. I’m looking with my eyes, of course, but it’s like I’m five minutes behind. That’s not good. Definitely not good. I feel my heart get caught in my throat.

And then I feel the hands again. And I’m grabbing, trying to pull them away because I don’t want to do this again. But there aren’t _hands_ there. I’m being choked by the air. I don’t want to die again. Not like this.

This must be a dream. Right? I reach for the keys that saved me last time. Not there, of course. I try to feel down my leg to find my phone. Not there. I’m choking on nothing in the middle of an empty street by myself and I can _feel_ it. It’s just a dream but it _aches._ Just like it did then, but worse. Because there’s no hope, here. I’m just waiting for the pop – there it is. Something’s wrong again. Behind my eyes. But it doesn’t stop. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it.

I fall to my knees. It’s not stopping. Even as I sink to the ground. Even as I plant my palms on the rough sidewalk, grasping for something I don’t expect to be there. Maybe a phone. Maybe Ryan.

Right before I face-plant into the concrete and lose consciousness for the last time, I wake up. Gasping, clutching at my throat, trying to fill my lungs with air. Fuck. It feels so good to _breathe._

I try to turn over to stand but I fall right onto the floor, knocking the wind out of myself. “Ah, _fuck_.” My voice sounds wrecked again. Not as bad as it had been, but similar. When I get some semblance of breath, I manage myself onto my knees to peek over the side of the mattress to see Ryan. He’s still asleep, thank God. So glad I didn’t wake him up. That would be awful.

I crawl across the floor until I’m in the hall to stand on my Bambi legs, pushing the door closed with my foot because my hands are shaking so hard I don’t think I can do anything with them. I lean against the wall. This is stupid, I know this, but I can’t bring myself to stop vibrating. It felt so _real._ How did it feel real?

My legs somehow make it to the bathroom. Don’t ask me why. I need to take a shower, wash the feeling of death off my skin. I press the back of my hand to my forehead. I’m sweaty, too. That’s not great. Ideally, I can get myself cleaned up and back in bed before Ryan can identify a problem. 

I can’t keep my brain in one spot. Even trying to shower, I can’t hold a clear train of thought. I’m trying to scrub the pain off my neck that I can’t even _feel_ anymore. I’ve had my share of dreams. Scary ones. I mean, I’ve been the scary one in some of them. But I’ve never felt anything. I’ve never died. That's new. I'm not particularly afraid of death, but I am afraid of losing Ryan. 

It’s hard to focus on washing my hair. I’m almost afraid to go back to sleep. The dream ended, it finished, but I’m afraid it’ll start over. I’ll just keep dying until the sun rises. I settle on just washing my hair and standing under the water for about ten minutes, letting the water spray me right in the face. Maybe I’ll wake up and I won’t have to sleep. I don’t think so, though, because I’m already so exhausted. I’d like to sleep again. Damn.

I dry off as slowly as possible. A few seconds spent cold are a few seconds still awake, I guess. This is so stupid. God. It’s probably because it’s just late and I’m fragile. Tomorrow, I’ll be better. I bet this is because of the melatonin. That’s what I’ll say. This is all a melatonin hell dream and definitely not a culmination of repressed trauma. Ha.

I step out onto the mat. Most of the steam has disappeared during the five minutes I stalled behind the curtain, so I accidentally make eye contact with myself. Oh.

My hands still shake as I struggle to wrap my towel around my waist, keeping my eyes ahead. That’s what I look like. Oh, yeah. I scrub one hand over my face, using the other to wipe away the remaining steam.

Just as I suspected. It’s like nothing ever happened. The bruises Ryan mentioned are gone, my eye is normal. I could have gone on and pretended that it never occurred if it weren’t for my stupid brain, yearning to bring it up in one of the worst ways possible. In the dead of night, while Ryan is getting his much-needed rest. Damn.

I mean. I look different. I haven’t looked at myself on purpose in a month or so. More than a month? What is time, even? Who am I?

“Shane?” I hear Ryan’s voice to my right, hear the doorknob rattle.

As soon as I turn to look at him, I realize two things: I’m having trouble breathing and I’m also crying.

“Hey, sorry.” I didn’t wake him up, right? He just did that on his own? I grab my shirt from the towel rack and pull it over my head.

“What are you doing?” Ryan rubs his eyes with his fingertips, stepping from the dark hallway into the bright bathroom. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Uhhhh,” I say. I pull my pajama pants on under the towel, very discreetly wiping my tears before I pull the towel away. “Sorry, just… uh, needed a shower.”

“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. Fair. “Um. Well, come back to bed.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a second.” I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything yet. About the, uh, tears. And the mild hyperventilation. Maybe he’s just too tired to deal with this, right now. I understand that. Doesn’t make me feel great, but hey. I can deal. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up.” Ryan turns and exits, looking at me over his shoulder. “Don’t be long, please.”

Hm. Definitely not a good feeling I have. I woke him up, I’m fuckin’ crying all over the place. Hopefully Ryan’s already asleep so I can do that quiet-sob-into-pillow thing until I fall asleep.

After a few moments of unsuccessfully trying to eradicate all traces of cry-face, I slowly creep back to the room. I expect the lights to be off, Ryan curled up in the bed and snoring probably. But he’s awake. He’s sitting up in the bed with his back against the headboard, the lamp turned on from his side of the bed.

“You okay?” He asks.

I don’t know the correct answer. I feel like he knows the answer. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe he wants me to say I am so he can go back to sleep? Right? I’m supposed to say I’m good so we can just move on from this.

“Yeah,” I say. He seems content with that answer. I don’t know how that makes me feel, but it’s okay. I’ll be asleep soon anyway.

I crawl into the bed, still trying to hold the urge to hyperventilate between my teeth. This is so stupid. I'm an adult. It was just a dream. Sure, a dream based on a very real near-death experience that could have caused me to never see Ryan again (my greatest fear), but that's nothing. Whatever.

Right before I can begin to settle, before I can push my legs under the covers and turn on my side, I feel his hand on my arm. I turn to look at him and, in an instant, Ryan pulls me into his lap. What? I’m probably dreaming again. I freeze while it happens, knowing what's going on but doubting its possibility. It becomes clear this is real - the way he's holding me, the pressure of him behind me. Fuck. When he settles me, I try to escape.

"Hey," he says in that calming way.

"Sorry, I'll - " I'm trying to get off of him, trying to stop crushing him, trying to control my breathing, trying to hold all my apologies in my throat. This is so embarrassing. I can't imagine what it's like for him. Fuck. "I'll just, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I put you here." I feel his hand on my back, a hand on my legs. Cradling me. I have many conflicting feelings right now. "It's okay, Shane. I'm here."

"This is embarrassing," I say. He makes a face.

"You don't like this."

"No, I do, I just. I'm fucking this up.” He needs to sleep. I need to sleep. Let’s just do that. “Sorry. Let’s just. Let’s go to sleep.”

“Shane.” Ryan is searching for something. Of _course_ I like this, but it’s not about me! He should know that by now.

I feel a need to specify. I shouldn’t, I need to just get off of him and go to sleep. “You don't like doing this stuff and I keep guilting you into it."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, indignant. "You're not _guilting_ me, Shane. I love you."

"I love you too. I'm sorry. God." I cover my face with my hands. He moves me so my head is on his shoulder and it feels so _wonderful_ but all I can think about is how bad Ryan wants my weight off of him. I'm probably crushing him right now. Damn it. "I'm fine, Ryan. Let me go."

"What's wrong?" He pulls my fingers from my eyes. He doesn't look mad or strained or uncomfortable. Just concerned. "I thought you wanted this." Ow.

"I do, but… ehhhhhh, you don't." My stupid eyes are still crying. I'm trying to wipe the tears away but, suddenly, Ryan's hands are there instead doing it for me.

"When did I say that?"

"It's not what you _say,_ it's all the stuff you _don't_ say. You know?" My voice is all gummy and I try to clear my throat but it does jack shit to help. "It's okay that you don't really wanna do that stuff, I'm not upset. I don't want you to force yourself to..." I can't even finish the sentence. I feel a sob coming up.

"Force myself to what?" I look at the ceiling. Every time I look at him, I get all upset. He’s so _understanding_. Why?

Ughhhh. This sucks. I just want to go back to sleep and forget this. I shake my head as if he'll just move on like I want him to. I mean, I guess this has happened before. If I just insist that I'm fine, he'll leave. That always happens.

"Shane. Force myself to what." He's looking at me now. Still wiping my tears. I'm so pathetic. If I think about the situation I’m in for too long I will absolutely break down.

"Eh," I say. I sniff. "Forget I said anything, I just wanna sleep."

"Force myself to... touch you?" I don’t like the way he says that. Like he _wants_ to touch me, or something. As if.

"Yes." I want to curl up in a ball and sink into the earth. "That."

"Jesus, Shane." He shifts, arms around me, molding me to fit his shape. I bury my face in his neck and his hand is on the back of my head and I feel _safe_ but also very, very stupid. "You don't force me to do anything, baby. I love you _so_ much."

My heart is doing something funny. I feel some sort of alarm going off in my brain. Pet name. _I'm_ baby. Fuck yeah. My emotions are all over the place right now.

"I know, I love you too. I just..." He cards his fingers through my hair, waiting for me to continue. "I know I'm a guy and I'm... uh, weird and I need affection for some reason all the time and your validation is like _cocaine_ to me or something. So I understand why you don't want to hold my hand and kiss me and stuff."

He sighs long and steady. I feel myself rise and fall with the breath. I'm trying not to work myself into a panic. I said what I said and I mean it, even though it kind of hurts to say. I don't know why he'd get upset with me for saying it. I hope he isn't upset. I don't wanna talk ever again, if that's the case.

"I've really fucked this up, haven't I?" He says, quietly.

"But I - "

"If you're about to tell me you killed people, don't. It doesn't make me love you any less.” He runs his hands through my hair. I try not to lean into his touch, but it just kind of happens on instinct at this point. “I’m so incredibly lucky to have you and to hold you. But I _haven't_ held you, and I'm so... so sorry."

“It’s okay,” I say. I kiss his throat and I immediately retreat. “I understand.” These sound like things to say when you’re ending a conversation. Things to say to dissolve tension and to forgive and forget and _go to sleep._ I hope he picks up on this.

Ryan sighs. He kisses the top of my head and I melt a little more. “Do you like being held like this?”

 _Fuck._ “ _Fuck._ Yes.”

He shrugs. I think my spine is gone. I’m a puddle. “That’s good to know.”

“You don’t – you shouldn’t, though. It’s fine.” I pat his chest a few times, yet another attempt to get out of this. This is what guys do when they fight, right? Tap out. “I don’t. This isn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t wake me up, you know.” He looks down at me, shifting his arm under me. “I think I subconsciously realized you weren’t in bed anymore and I just kinda… awoke.”

“Hm,” I say. I could fall asleep like this. I’m not going to. “Seems like I still woke you up. Just. Subconsciously.”

He laughs quietly, I feel the vibrations from his chest. A few moments pass before he says, “What happened?” His voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid he said something wrong.

“Nothing,” I say. Nailed it.

“I don’t think you’d cry over nothing.”

“I do tend to do that.” I laugh a bit but it doesn’t really sound happy. Ryan doesn’t say anything. He’s still waiting for me to give him a real answer. I don’t want to. I’d rather keep this bottled up and continue having these stupid dreams than talk about it. But, alternatively, there’s something about being held like this at three in the morning that makes me vulnerable. “Uh. It was just a stupid dream.”

“A stupid dream,” Ryan repeats.

“I mean. Just a dream.” As if the _stupid_ part of it was his main concern.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Can we just go to sleep?”

“Do you think you _can_ sleep?”

Hm. That’s a good question. I must think for too long because he’s tightening his arms around me, turning his head to look at me, kissing the corner of my mouth. I still want to give him his space, but I seem to have misplaced all my bones.

“Tell me,” he says. His voice is all _rumbly._ I’m putty in his fucking hands, though that hasn’t changed much. “Get it off your chest, Shane. It isn’t good to hold this stuff in.”

“It’s easier?” I offer. I look up at him – it’s a rare moment where I look _up_ at him. Since he’s little. He laughs a bit, that patient laugh that also says _I’m waiting._ “Uh. Um. It was just a bad dream.”

“Mhm.”

Oh, okay. He wants more. “I was on that sidewalk with the bushes.”

“Oh,” he says, understanding. He rests his head back on the headrest, tired, but he keeps his eyes on me.

“Sorry, let’s just go to bed – “

“Shane.” Stern. Woah.

“ _Fine_ ,” I say. I shift. Ryan thinks I’m trying to move off his lap and he grips the back of my shirt. Joke’s on him, I guess. “Uh. It was just… it wasn’t anything bad, just… I was walking, I was looking for you, and then… uh. I was getting hurt again, in the strangly way, but I couldn’t _see_ him this time. So I couldn’t do anything.”

Ryan makes another noise, a sad one. “Oh, Shane.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. He agrees with me, then, that it’s bad. That’s sort of validating. “Uh. I tried to call you, again, just to say _bye_ or something, but I didn’t have my phone on me. So I just kinda died.”

Something changes. I feel Ryan’s shoulders grow tight. Did I say something wrong?

“Sorry, I didn’t – “ I try to say.

Ryan interrupts. “What do you mean, you tried to call me again?”

“I didn’t mean to say the wrong thing.” I’m tired and vulnerable. Fuck. I need to filter myself. “Uh. It’s nothing, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Why are you so afraid of me?” Ryan asks, hand rubbing my back ever so gently. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“I’m not afraid.” I struggle to sit up a bit, straighten my posture, so Ryan assists. It’s an awkward, shuffling moment. “What do you mean? I’m not afraid of you, I love you.”

“I just asked you a question, I’m not mad. I’m curious.” Ryan swipes his thumb under my eye again. “What did you mean?”

“I just.” What does he want me to say? “Like on the night it, uh, happened. When I couldn’t get his arms off, I wanted to call you but then I ended up… doing the wrong thing, I guess.”

“You wanted to call me?” His eyes are wider, more awake. “You tried to call _me_?”

“Well, yeah.” I’m confused. “I told you that, in the report.”

“I thought you meant you tried to call your parents.”

I scoff, maybe to hide a cry. I won’t tell. “No, of course not. I don’t know them anymore. We haven’t talked in years. I just… I don’t know. I wasn’t gonna be able to talk, and I was… well. I guess, you were busy so I expected that I’d get to hear your voicemail thing, at the least.”

Ryan hasn’t blinked in a while. “You didn’t even call the police?”

“I was gonna die either way, I figured.” Tears are coming back. Ryan’s all blurry. “Uh. But it’s fine. Water under the bridge, or whatever. I don’t know why I even dreamed about it, it was so long ago.”

Now I’m getting hugged. Ryan is tugging at my leg, maneuvering me around like a ragdoll until I’m straddling his legs. This can’t be real. This is a good dream. A perfect dream to counteract the hell I experienced earlier.

Ryan’s face is pressed against my neck, my chin resting on his head. It’s an awkward position but it’s perfect.

“You are the one good thing in my life, Shane.” One of his hands rubs my back under my shirt. “My one constant, good person that I have the privilege to spend time with. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to communicate it in the way I’d like, but I need to try.”

“It’s okay,” I say. It is. I’m crying a little. Maybe a lot.

He hums, squeezing my waist. He tilts his head to look up at me. He’s crying too.

“Sorry I keep making everything about me,” I mutter.

He chuckles. Now _I_ get the chance to wipe _his_ tears. Fuck yeah. He leans into my hand, “Oh, whatever. You’ve given me everything I could have ever wanted. I want to do the same for you.”

I shake my head. I’m so lucky to be here right now. “I’m too fragile for this.”

“You need to allow yourself some fragility, now and then.”

“Or I could just be cool,” I offer a shrug. I’m still sniffing but I… I feel better.

A lot of the doubt I had is somewhat gone. Partly due to the fact that I’m just sitting on his lap. Neither of us are talking, right now. Just looking at each other, considering our situation. He’s not pushing me off, now that the heart-to-heart has finished.

“I love you,” he says. He pokes his finger to my chest. I grab his hand before he can pull away.

“I love you too!” I remember a time when I couldn’t tell him that. What a hard time that was. “Thank you.”

“No, don’t thank me.” He shakes his head. “It’s my honor.”

“Oh, whatever.” I shift a bit. “I should probably get off of you now, right?”

“What, why?” He seems alert, hands on my thighs. “Where would you go?”

“To, uhhh, sleep?” I move slightly and Ryan shakes his head. I don’t know if this is just genuinely how he’s feeling, that he wants me to stay here, or if he knows this is what I want. Either way, I like this.

“No. Just, uh. Here.” He pushes me a little to turn over, to settle my back against his chest, sitting between his legs. “Is that comfy?”

“Y-yeah.” I want to stay here for the rest of my life. Oh my God. “Yes.”

“Great. Sleep.” He moves behind me. I hear the click of the lamp, watch the room grow dark. “Big day in the morning.”

“Big day?” I ask. It’s pitch black, but I turn my head like I can still see him.

He tangles his fingers in my hair. “Eh. Big day of the same old thing, I guess.”

I hum. My eyes slip closed. I wait to see the sidewalk, wait to find myself anywhere but here, but nothing happens. It’s like Ryan’s arms around me are some… I don’t know, cheesy protection sort of deal. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t think I would want to if I did.

I think it’s, like, a secret I’d like to keep to myself. I’ve shared everything else with you, maybe this’ll be my thing. Ryan is my one constant, good person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've arrived at the long note i was referring to. here we go. 
> 
> i know i’m probably taking us out of this alternate universe a bit here but i have to say this because i want to be super transparent! 
> 
> i know that i'm a stranger on the internet writing fanfiction, and you're probably not looking to me for a realistic take on the world at large. but i want to take this opportunity to say: this is obviously a story that includes police officers. am i placing them in a good light? sort of - we’ve got a good bit of bending the law in this, but i’m also attempting to redeem a murderer so uhhhh take that with a grain of salt. 
> 
> i believe i (through ryan’s dialogue earlier in the story) spoke briefly and vaguely about corruption in law enforcement. there's no part of this that really touches on the violence and corruption to the degree that we're seeing currently. i know this chapter wasn’t focused on the police but we’re going to return to that in the next chapter and onward as we begin to wrap this up.
> 
> i just wanted to take a moment to say: in no way am i comparing the police in this story to the police in real life - especially not those officers currently utilizing force to break up protests (no matter how peaceful they were to begin with) or using force to kill black americans because they can. 
> 
> once again, i know you’re probably not applying the anarchy in america to this goofy lil fic and this may or may not be your way to escape from the chaos (i know it is for me as well) but i’m going to link the carrd.co site for ways to help during this time - be it a donation, education, or support in any form. 
> 
> thanks for reading again, it means the world.
> 
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 70k words? more likely than you think

A day or so ago, Ryan started listening to ocean sounds to help him sleep. Well. He _said_ it was to help him sleep, to clear his head and help him calm down, but I suspect that he thinks it’ll help me too. Since he started the night after I had my stupid freak out.

I will say, I didn’t think I’d like it this much. Gives me something to focus on when I’m trying to get myself together. Instead of scrambling to find a backdrop to place myself in so that I can sleep, I’ve already made one! I’m at the beach. The waves are rolling – not the violent type that knocks you over, but the kind that slowly sweeps you from side to side.

Tonight, it’s kind of distracting. All I can picture is a beach day with Ryan. That’s distracting for various reasons. At risk of sounding like a creep: I haven’t seen Ryan shirtless as much as I’d like. He’s seen me nearly naked _so_ many times, and I can’t think of… I can’t think of _one_ time where I’ve seen his full chest. What’s up with that?

I mean. We’re coming up on six months together, can you believe it? It feels like much longer, all the shit we’ve gone through. I feel like most people have had sex by this point, right? Not that I’m missing out on that, I’m fine with this. All I ask is to see him shirtless. That’s all I ask. I wanna _ogle_ him, y’know? I know he’s buff as hell. He’s too modest to flaunt it, unfortunately.

I don’t remember waking up, but I’m awake to feel Ryan shift in the bed behind me.

“Are you awake?” Ryan grumbles.

“Yeah,” I turn over to face him. “Did I bother you?”

“No, no. I just woke up and I… I don’t know. I could just tell you were awake.” He sits up, grabbing his glasses from the table and clicking the lamp on. I squint at the light. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s sweet,” I say. I don’t want to sit up yet. “What time is it?”

He checks his phone, “Almost five-thirty.”

I didn’t really have a response planned to the time, so I don’t know what to say next. I don’t have many words. Well, I have these. “I wanna go to the beach with you.”

Ryan hums quietly, I hesitate to say _fondly_ , “I’d love that.”

“Yeah?” I say. I don’t think any more about it. We’ll do it some other time, or something.

I look up at him as he scrolls through his many notifications. God, I wish that were me. He always has to spend a few minutes scrolling, trying to identify any important news. There doesn’t seem to be any. He pushes his glasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. It’s so cute when he does that. It’s his morning ritual, I assume. Every time he wakes up, he immediately starts pawing at his eyes like he can wipe the sleepiness away.

“You know where your swimming trunks are?”

I blink. “Yeah.”

“Wanna go to the beach?”

What? “What?”

“Beach. You and me. Wanna?” He raises his eyebrows but keeps his face ultimately blank, which gives me the impression that I’m hallucinating this part of the conversation. It’s likely, I guess. I’m not all here, in my brain.

“Uh.” Is this a dream? Like, a good dream? I don’t remember waking up…? I just… was.

“We don’t have to. I know it’s early, but we can’t exactly leave work to go during the day,” Ryan shrugs. He’s so handsome. Random, sure, but true.

“Oh,” I say. I get a wave of giddiness in my chest. I should probably smother it, just in case this _is_ a dream or something. Or a joke. “Really?”

“Why not?” He smiles, finally, and I relax a bit. He reaches over and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “Right? I know it’ll be dark for a few minutes, but we can watch the sunrise or something.”

I don’t know if I should say this, but my filter is out of commission this early in the morning. “That’s romantic.”

He nods exaggeratedly. “You’re right. I’m so fuckin’ romantic.”

I bury my face in my pillow. I don’t want to show him how cute I found that. Ugh. I’m a nightmare. He kisses the part of my face that is still available before rolling out of bed.

“Let’s go, long legs.” He pats my right leg over the blanket. “Get your trunks on.”

“I’m probably not going swimming this early in the morning, Ryan.” I roll onto my back, watching him grab all of his clothes. He always changes in the bathroom. I get it, though. He probably isn’t comfy with that, yet.

“Don’t you want the experience?” He closes the drawer he’s deemed his, standing with his clothes in his arms. “Plus, you don’t wanna get sand on your workin' pants. C’mon.”

“Fineeee,” I say. I consider telling him that he can change in here, but I feel like that would be awkward. Me, just watching? Nah. “I’ll be ready in a few.”

“Sunrise is in about ten minutes, I think. We can probably be at the beach before then, if you’re speedy.”

“I’m always speedy.” I flip the blankets off of me, “It’s _you_ who takes forever.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and exits. I get dressed in a minute in a half – I may or may not be counting – and run out into the living room before he can. I sit down on the couch, too, to make it seem like I’ve been here for ages. Lucy barely stirs, making a low grumble from her spot on the other end of the couch.

A few seconds after I get settled, I hear the bathroom door open and watch Ryan run out into the room (probably looking very similar to my entrance).

“What the hell?” He gestures to me. “I couldn’t have been taking _that_ long.”

I shrug, standing. “I’ll feed Lucy real quick and then we’d better go.”

The drive is nearly silent. Nearly. Ryan doesn’t bother to turn the radio on, which is a tell in itself. He usually can’t stand a quiet car. But he’s focused on getting to the beach, which is hilarious.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he whispers, turning the wheel onto the street where all the beach parking lies.

“Ryan,” I hear myself laugh as I say it. “It’s _okay_.”

“We’re here.”

“I know!” I pat his shoulder. I can’t stop smiling. “I can see!”

He hums, pulling into a spot. He struggles with his seatbelt. I’ve never seen him so pressed about something so trivial, before. He was so calm when he asked me to come do this and now he’s losing his mind.

I step out of the car and walk around to meet him. He’s bouncing on the soles of his shoes, a blanket folded over his arm. I don’t stare at his legs because there’s no time to – he’s got his hand around my wrist, gently tugging me up the platform that spans across the dunes.

“It’s happening,” he says. He’s so focused on this. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, but it starts to get light before you can see the sun, silly.” I stumble over a plank that’s not nailed down correctly but, somehow, I don’t fall on my face. “We’re not missing this, it’s okay.”

“We gotta find the perfect spot.”

“Any spot is gonna be perfect, Ryan. It’s okay!” Every word that comes out of my mouth right now is punctuated with a laugh.

We’re both still a bit tired, both probably actively considering how silly this is to do on a whim at five-thirty on a Monday morning. But it’s _fun._ I’ve never done anything like this – I’ve never had the movie scene type romantic date situation. This is better than I ever could have dreamed.

We settle the blanket halfway down the beach, side by side. The ocean is to the right, the tide creeping down the sand, waves tame and almost afraid in their movements.

Ryan rests his head on my shoulder. The sun begins to peek its head above the jagged horizon, above the gyms and bars that line the sand. Big market for beach people, I guess. Ryan sighs, finally relaxing after a very tense drive.

“Sorry this isn’t the usual beach experience,” he says after several minutes, which is ridiculous. “Maybe we can go after all of this is over, you know? When we have some free time.”

“This is wonderful,” I say. I lean into him. “I don’t mind. I do yearn to see you swim, you know. Every time you’ve gone into the pool, you’ve been wearing a stupid swim shirt – “

“It’s not _stupid._ I swam twice and you didn’t have sunscreen!”

“So? Fuck the sun.”

“Shane.” Ryan’s shoulders shake as he laughs. “Just because I’m wearing a shirt in the pool doesn’t mean I’m not swimming.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I smother a yawn in my palm. I hope we’ll have time to grab coffee. “I get that.”

Ryan turn to look at me. The way the sun is shining on his face, the dim pink and orange, it makes it seem like he’s glowing. “It isn’t about the swimming is it?”

“What?” Caught red-handed, I guess. I just keep my eyes forward. I don’t know what I look like, but I imagine my face is the definition of suspicious.

I feel him staring at me. “The problem isn’t the swimming, is it?”

Quick! Think of some bullshit! “I mean. I know you’re stressed, so maybe some time in the water could – “

“Shut up, Shane.” He knocks his shoulder against mine. I love it when he does that. I love when he does anything. You know this by now. “C’mon. We’ve been together for half a year, I’d like to think you can use your words to tell me what you want.”

I glance over at him. He’s got a wide grin on his face. The sun’s climbing up the sky, helping me see him in better and better light. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, so. Fuck me for considering your health.”

He laughs, tilting his head back. His laugh echoes – I don’t know what it echoes off of. “If you want me to take my shirt off, going forward, just tell me. Jesus.”

He’s got me figured out, I guess. I’ve gotten worse at being stealthy with my thoughts. I only just recently realized how much I wanted that, and he’s already caught me.

“So, do it then.”

“Can’t, right now.” He sticks the soles of his shoes into the sand, “Cold.”

“It’s not _cold_ , what?” I look around as if I can find some sort of tangible proof. There is none, though. “Eh. You probably _would_ think it was cold.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks over at me, almost immediately understanding. “Ohhhhh, _ohhhhh,_ you with your Midwestern temperature superiority.”

“Yeah.” I mean, he’s not wrong there. I lay down on the blanket, having to scoot down a bit so I don’t get sand in my hair. The sky is beginning to even out, all of the fancy hues fading into the normal blue. Ryan settles next to me.

“Have you been thinking about… _it_ , at all?” Ryan shifts to lay closer, pressing his arm against mine. “I know we’re not in the office right now. I know… I know I’m not even supposed to be _talking_ to you about this. Uh.”

“I don’t know,” I say, which is probably very helpful. “I think… well. I think whoever’s doing this is familiar with my description. And they know Dan Miller isn’t me. And they’re doing this… I don’t know.” There’s a cloud right above us that kind of looks like a heart. That’s nice. “I hesitate to say they’re trying to get my attention. Because I’m not a narcissist.”

“Hm. Do you think… do you think he wants attention in general or _your_ attention, specifically?”

“I couldn’t tell ya, babe.” First time saying that. Wish I would have saved that for a more appropriate occasion. “We have all these clues, I feel like. There’s just one… like, vital piece of information that would tie it all together. I just don’t know what that is.”

“Right.” He shakes his head. “That’s always how it is, isn’t it? Couldn’t have made it easy.”

“Guess not.” I take a deep breath. I love the air, here, though Ryan’s ocean sounds have brainwashed me into feeling sleepy when I hear waves. Damn him.

We lay here for a moment, comfy in the silence. I consider taking his hand but, for some reason, I don’t. I know he’d be okay with it. I get that now. I guess… my main worry is that, if I move, time will start again and we’ll have to go.

As soon as I consider that thought, he starts to stand. Noooo. I don’t wanna go. I don’t want to leave this moment.

“Well. Now, we go home to change then head to work. Sorry it was so short, but I had a blast.” He claps his hands once before holding them out to me. Am I pouting? Yeah. “Shane, c’mon.”

“Just leave me here,” I say.

“Shane.”

“Ugh.” I take his hands. He pulls me to my feet so fast my hair is pushed back by the resistance. “Fine. Responsibility awaits.”

Ryan does put the radio on the second time around, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drives. I feel like I should be embarrassed about the whole shirt thing, but I’m not. I hope that’s a testament to my growth as a person and not my exhaustion. Who knows?

We get dressed quickly, running a bit short for time. He still insists on dressing somewhere else, though I’m pretty sure he’s just doing this to spite me. I’ll be victorious in the end. I know that for sure.

There’s an inherent sense of calm and control on the way to the office. I hook my arm around the back of Ryan’s headrest, looking forward as some miscellaneous music I couldn’t describe if I wanted to comes out of the car speakers. This must be what peace of mind feels like. Not an emptiness of the brain, but more of a… more of an acceptance of the brain, I guess. We’re heading to Ryan’s office to try and solve heinous crimes – but I’m calm, I’m collected, I’m ready.

Anyway. As soon as the elevator doors open, all that calm disappears.

It’s that type of scene that causes Ryan to grab my arm as if to say _get back._ Brian is standing at his desk, a man across from him yelling and waving his arms – “I _told_ you, man. What did I say! I told you he wasn’t done!” I look between the two, trying to identify something that makes me more concerned. If someone was yelling at me like that, I'd probably look a bit more concerned. I remember back when I worked in a gas station in Illinois. Worst five months of my life. 

Officer Turner is standing by, one hand on the man’s chest to hold him back. She doesn’t look angry, thank God. Just confused. No one has seen us yet – well, not until Ryan says:

“What the hell is going on?” Nice and to the point.

Brian turns to look at us. He doesn’t look terrified, which is still endlessly surprising to me. This guy is yelling _at_ him, and he’s just… present.

Then the guy turns to me. And holy fuck.

“Shane?” Tony asks, dropping his hands. He turns, takes a few steps forward. Ryan steps in front of me, half-blocking me. That’s sweet. “Shane, man, thank _God_ you’re here.”

“You know him?” Officer Turner turns to me. Everyone seems to be turned to me, except for Ryan, who is still ‘protecting’ me.

“Barely,” I say, patting Ryan’s hip and stepping around him. Tony holds his hand out to shake, which I do… uh, reluctantly. This is a weird situation to be in. I look over at Brian, who is still standing there and scanning over all of us. He’s always so awkward. Why does he look like that? All… unconcerned. “What about you, there, Bri-guy? You know Tony at all?”

He opens his mouth to reply. He ends up just shaking his head slowly, lowering himself into his chair.

Tony’s adjusting his hat, “I told you too, didn’t I? I said he wasn’t done.”

I need coffee pretty bad. I press the palm of my right hand to my eye, “It’s not the same guy, Tony. Believe me. We’re trying to find the imposter, here.”

Tony’s shaking his head like that’s the most idiotic thing he’s ever heard.

“Yeah…” I spare a glance to Ryan. His eyes are narrow, scanning between the both of us like it’s a puzzle we need to put together. “Look. We’re getting closer. If you have anything to help that process along… I’d be happy to hear it.”

“I…” Tony looks around the room. I don’t follow his gaze but he seems to linger somewhere near Brian. He ends up looking at Ryan, who nods gently.

“Alright,” he says. “Come with me, let’s… uh… let’s talk. Tony, is it?”

“Yes, sir.” Tony’s not even five years younger than Ryan, I bet. But it’s good that he’s respectful.

“Don’t… don’t,” Ryan shakes his head, walking toward the hallway. Tony follows. So do I, though I’m not sure if I should. Am I part of this? He pushes the hallway door open with his hip, holding it for Tony, who ducks past him. I slow down a bit for confirmation. Ryan looks at me, nodding his head in the direction of his office. Oh, okay. If he insists.

I glance over my shoulder. Brian’s looking after us, leaning forward in his chair. Dude.

“Hey, Brian?” I say. Maybe this is unfair, but I gotta get caffeine somehow. “Do you think you could grab a coffee for me real quick? No trouble, if not.”

“Got it.” He smiles. I love coffee. Can’t wait.

Ryan fumbles with his keys, walking ahead of us. I turn the hallway light on as I pass the switch. Anything to help.

Tony slows down to let me catch up to him. He reaches up and pats my shoulder. I almost jump. “Hey, man. How lucky was it that you came in just before that lady tasered me?”

“Eh, she wouldn’t have tasered you.” Actually. I don’t know. You can’t be certain, these days. It’s also eight in the morning. “You were yelling, yes, but I don’t think she would have tasered you.”

“I had to yell. Brian wouldn’t listen to me.”

Hm. “You know him? You know Brian?”

“Uh. He’s got a nametag on his desk.”

“Yeah, but.” But he said it so casually. Like they were pals, or something. I squint at him, but he just looks ahead as Ryan pushes the door open.

“Alright,” Ryan tucks his keys into his pocket before rolling up his sleeves. I see all the emotion drain out of his face and I sigh. Detective time, I guess. “Take a seat, and we’ll talk.”

I'm pretty sure this isn't how this is supposed to happen. I've seen movies. I've watched Criminal Minds. We're supposed to be in some sort of walled-in room with a... with a two-way mirror. And a... like, another official person. There's a plenitude of officers down the hall. So, why's it just us? I don't understand.

“Do you…” I follow Ryan around the back of the desk as Tony reluctantly settles in the guest (AKA _my_ ) chair. “Do you want me to leave? I don’t know if I’m – “

“You can stay,” Ryan says with little to no emotion, falling into his chair. Ugh. He was so sweet this morning and now it’s all _you can stay._ Whatever.

There’s no _other_ chair back here. I don’t want to go over and grab the old chair Lisa sat in – it’s pretty far away and I feel like Detective Ryan might get frustrated with me if I move around too much. Just a hunch. I’ll just stand, I guess.

Ryan opens a report document I’ve never seen before. I can just barely see the format. Stupid dark screen.

“Full name?” Ryan asks. Tony looks at him for a moment. “Yours.”

“Oh. Anthony Lucas Moreno.” He taps his foot on the floor, scanning around the room. I get it. Lots to look at.

And, God, that’s a good name. I don’t say that, though. Not professional.

“Okay. And you have some information regarding the murders, am I right?” Ryan is twirling his pen around his finger. I’ll dwell on that later.

“Yes, sir.”

Ryan makes a face at that. “No… no, don’t do that.”

Tony nods once, “Noted. Uh, again.”

Ryan has his fingers poised at the keyboard. He’s always a fast typer. It’s almost mesmerizing. “Start whenever you’re ready.”

“Right. Okay.” Tony takes a deep breath. “I told… I told Shane this before, but I’m part of a club dedicated to the killings over there in Foster City. We discuss theories.”

Ryan scratches his head. “Huh. And… why would you want to participate in a fan club for a serial murderer?”

After a moment of consideration, Tony shakes his head. “Not a fan club. We don’t condone this guy’s actions, we’re just… true crime enthusiasts.”

“Right, right.” Ryan’s not looking at me. I hope he’ll talk about what’s going on in his head right now. I’m dying to know. “Continue.”

“Anyway. We’ve been… uh, discussing the recent events here in Santa Monica and we… well. I'm worried something is going to happen.”

“Hate to break it to you, but something has already happened,” Ryan says monotonously. I brace my hand on the back of his chair, turning it slightly to let him know I disapprove.

Tony doesn’t seem to mind. “No, I mean _beyond_ what’s already happened. I found out recently that the other fellas in the group have been meeting without me, and I… I don’t know. They’re moved beyond enthusiasm, in my eyes.”

“Do you know what they talk about, Tony?” I hear myself ask before I can stop myself.

He shakes his head slightly. “Like I said, I’m not there. We had a meeting last night, and they’re… mm. They’re not the same – their theories about suspects have developed into some sort of obsession with one suspect, you know?”

“We don’t have any suspects,” Ryan says.

Tony looks at me. I get that feeling again. That feeling like he can see through me, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I half expect him to stand and point a finger at me, saying, _“I know it was you! You deserve to rot in jail!”_ Or something like that. But he’s just sitting there, staring at me.

“I know,” he says, not breaking eye contact with me. Jesus. It’s like he’s memorizing all my secrets or something. “I know.”

"Who are the other members?" Ryan asks. I break from Tony’s soul search to look over his shoulder. He's not typing in the document anymore. He's in something else entirely. I can't see because the screen's so fucking dark.

"I can't tell you that," Tony says. I give him a look. "But there's... there's just the three of us, now."

"You can't tell us who the other members are." Ryan runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. I step back so he doesn’t knock into me. "You're here to say something bad is going to happen, and you have some information regarding who might be behind it, but you won't give us anything else."

"I just... I want to," he says this to me in particular, which is interesting, "God, I want to..."

Ryan selects something, leaning close to the screen. He hums, clicking his pen. “Thanks for your time, Tony.” He says it in that way which implies that he’s not thankful at all. He grabs a sticky note from his desk and scribbles something down, too fast for me to watch – I’m still upset that I don’t pay attention to his handwriting – and hands it over. “That’s my phone number. If you decide that you have more information to share, you call and let me know.”

Tony nods and, with once last glance to me, leaves. He just goes, leaving nothing but disease in my stomach.

I open my mouth to say something, but Ryan turns his chair to face me and folds the laptop so that I can see better.

“Anthony Lucas Moreno. Disturbing the peace, _several_ false accusation suits.” Ryan’s not quite out of the detective character yet. I don’t like when he looks at me like this. “This isn’t the first time he’s been on the wrong side of local cases.”

“But he’s not on the wrong side, this time.” I want to sit in his lap so fucking bad, but he’s weird right now. I just cross my arms over my chest and lean on his desk. “I just. Did you see how he was looking at me?”

“No, actually.”

“Well. I think he knows. I think they might know it’s me. I don’t know how, but…” I rub the inside of my forearm, glancing back to the door. “But even then. They don’t know me. Are they just taking his word for it?”

Ryan bites the inside of his cheek, “He said they have one suspect in mind. We don’t have any.”

I don’t have an answer. I’m a bit shaken. We bonded on the bus… but probably not enough for us to be so close where he doesn’t tell the police… hm.

“I don’t know what he meant,” I say quietly. “But I also know that they probably pour over the details. Details about _me,_ all those witness testimonies they got. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Of anyone, the members of a fuckin’ fan club are probably going to know that Dan Miller isn’t their guy.”

Ryan takes that in. He nods. “Okay.”

“Can you go back to normal, now?” My voice almost gives out mid-sentence. He tilts his head, slightly. “Like, stop being Detective Ryan and start being Regular Ryan.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

Hm. Should I continue to talk and make my case or just let him be the worst for a few hours?

Apparently I pause for too long, and he says, “Shane.”

“You’re not very sweet when you’re in detective-mode. That’s all I’m saying.” I stand from the desk to walk back to my chair. I expect him to sigh and apologize, that’s par for the course. I don’t expect him to take my hand and pull me into his lap. “Oh – “

“Sorry,” he says. I actually believe him. He kisses my nose, which makes my heartbeat accelerate to a worrying degree. “I know I get intense, I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“I know.” I let my arm wrap around his shoulders. “I get it. I’m just needy.”

“I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?” He traces my spine with his fingers. I cross my legs. “Sometimes I get lost in my head, here. Just tell me when I’m being cold to you, I promise I never mean to be.”

“Gotta lot of stuff in your head.” That wasn’t really helpful. Whatever. My brain isn’t entirely present, right now.

Part of my brain – in fact, a good bit of it – is trying to work up the courage to kiss him. _Really_ kiss him. I wanna kiss him in that way that wouldn’t be appropriate for work: memorable enough that, every time he comes in here, he thinks about me. That's probably out of line.

Before I can even complete a plan, even begin to initiate, there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Coffee for one Shane Madej.”

Damn. I forgot I made him get me a coffee. Brian is standing in the doorway, scanning over the situation at hand with a very vanilla smile on his face. Very Brian.

“Ah,” I say. I move to stand but Ryan holds me firm. Well, that’s not helping my train of thought. “Ryan, I gotta – “

“No worries,” Brian chuckles and walks over to hand it to me. “There ya go. Taking a break, I assume?”

Good assumption, Brian. Not the time for small talk. I laugh a bit, probably awkwardly, and glance at Ryan. He’s staring at me, pretty damn hard. I take a long sip of coffee to avoid talking for a moment. Ryan hasn’t blinked in a few seconds. Hm.

“Just for a bit.” I hold the drink up. “Well. Thanks for this.”

“Anytime,” Brian says. He lingers. I have nothing left to say, so I keep my mouth closed. He shifts. It looks like he wants us to keep talking to him. I’m not going to say anything, and Ryan… well, Ryan’s just staring at me. I can’t identify what expression he’s wearing right now, but I’m not familiar with it.

After a few seconds of silence, Brian leaves. I hear his shoes squeak against the tile as he pivots. Ryan turns the chair a bit, just barely. His fingers flex on my back.

“You know,” he says in an incredibly measured way, scanning my face. “I think… when we get home, we should take Lucy on a walk.”

“We get home pretty late, Ryan, I don’t know.” I don’t know where this is coming from. I mean, usually when we get home, we’re both so tired we can’t stand for long.

“I’ll pick you up from Bluestone at nine, we’ll get a head start.”

“Oh, okay.” I’m sure Lucy would love that.

He clears his throat. He brings his other hand to my face, swiping a thumb across my cheek. I’m not crying, so I don’t understand. I lean into his palm anyway because I’m a little bitch and his touch is like cocaine. I’d like to touch _more_ , if I may be blunt. But I get that he’s not comfortable with that yet. He may never be comfortable with it. That’s also fine.

“I think,” he says, voice low and just as calculated as before, “We should take Lucy on a walk, get her tired out, you know?”

“… Uh, sure.” He needs to stop looking at me like this before I need to excuse myself. I swear to God. I’m not above getting my energy out in a police station bathroom. Just so you know.

Ryan purses his lips a bit. “And then, I think we should go to your room and… I’d like to kiss you in a pretty inappropriate way. If that’s okay with you.”

Holy. Shit. How did he know?

I don’t mean to, I promise, but I laugh. I laugh so hard I have to lean back into his chest before I fall over. Ryan is smiling at me, holding me close, but I can’t _imagine_ the confusion he must be feeling. I try to get myself together, but it takes a minute or so.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I do, _so much._ I was just – I was laughing because I was just thinking about how I wanted to make out with you ‘til I saw stars, so. Thought that was funny.”

Ryan laughs a bit as well, arms tight around me. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to focus today knowing what we’re gonna do when we get home. I’m so fucking giddy. I can’t even sit still. I'm so stupid.

“That is pretty funny,” he says. He releases me. “You’d better get out of my lap, though, before I have to take work off early.”

I almost say _what’s so bad about that?_ but we’re doing important work. We only have three days left.

“Got it,” I say, wobbling to my feet and over to my chair. I reach into my pocket to grab my phone. “I’ll check Facebook for a Foster City killer group.”

“Good idea,” Ryan clears his throat again.

No matter how hard we try, neither of us can wipe this grin off our face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used to struggle to write a full 1,000 word chapter and now i'm crankin' out 5,000??????? character development???? 
> 
> anyway here's the beginning of the end i love you


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of the beginning of the end. 
> 
> hold my hand. we'll get through this together.

I will not say anything about the contents of tonight. Alright? My lips are sealed. That was a private moment between Ryan and I. I’m not telling. It was great, but… that’s all I’ll say.

So.

I’m not kissing and telling.

That’s not my place.

No, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that.

I _can’t_.

I can’t…

Eh. I’ll tell you a little bit.

You know how I was constantly telling myself he didn’t wanna do anything with me because he wasn’t sure if he liked men in that way? How I was content with just pecks and tentative hand-holding because I thought that was all he was comfortable with? Well. I stand corrected. I don’t think I’ve heard him repeat anything so much as he said _I’ve wanted you for so long_ , so. That was definitely a highlight. I think I’m gonna hear him say that in my dreams for the next year.

And, I have to say this: I don’t think I’ve made anyone audibly _moan_ on purpose since college. I forgot how exhilarating it is. Particularly when it’s Ryan, too, because all of my external validation is his burden to bear, apparently.

Ryan’s in the shower, currently. I got to go first, mostly because I was energetic enough to run there first. The first and only race I have and ever will win.

I’m just scrolling through Facebook to pass the time. I don’t want to go to sleep without Ryan out here, though I am about to pass out. It’s been a big day, and I know there’ll be bigger days ahead. So there’s that.

When he enters the room, one towel around his waist and another working to dry his hair, I’m inclined to whistle. But I don’t. (Though, I definitely do it in my head.) He’s got some sort of thoughtful look on his face, one that I don’t think is aimed at me, exactly. I’m ninety percent sure that isn’t the face you put on before you say _look, I think we’ve made a mistake here._ Ninety percent sure. I mean, he seemed happy in the moment, so that’s… uh, something.

“Hey,” I say. Gotta start this conversation somehow.

Ryan smiles a bit at me, though the thoughtful look returns. He crosses the room, approaching his clothes drawer. I hope he gets dressed in here. That’s the next obstacle we need to cross.

“I was thinking in the shower,” he says, folding his hair-dry towel and placing it on the dresser. “About next steps on how to end this.”

Hm? “End this…?”

He looks over at me. It’s hard to focus when his abs are just… out. “Oh. _Oh._ About the case, not about us.”

“Right.” I give him a thumbs up. That’s what you do thirty minutes after giving your boyfriend a spirited handy for the first time, right? Give him a thumbs up? “Continue.”

“Tony’s interview was pretty vague, right?” He pulls a blank t-shirt over his head. I eye the towel. It’s getting spectacularly low. Though I guess it isn’t anything I haven’t seen before. Whatever. “We couldn’t find evidence of the fan club online, though it seems it was just a bit of a hobby group between friends. Even then, we can’t trust that this thing even exists. He’s got a track record of deceit.”

“I don’t know him well,” I say cautiously. Ryan pulls the pants-under-the-towel trick that he learned from me. Damn. “But… I will say, I believe him on this. When I first met him, he was talking about the club. Even then, he was pretty sure there were going to be more... uh, deaths.”

Ryan removes the waist towel, folding that as well. He’s so organized in every other facet of things – just not work. He leans on the dresser. “I just… I don’t find it compelling.”

Sounds familiar. “Okay.”

“Just – if we follow this guy, if we believe him…” He bites his thumbnail, his damp hair still tussled, “If we follow this lead and we end up being wrong. I don’t know how it’s going to go down.”

“I believe him,” I say. I glance over his chest. “You look tense.”

“I _am_ tense,” he laughs a bit, making his way to my side of the bed. He just stands there, looking down at me. “We can’t let him get away with this, Shane.”

“We won’t.” I take his hand and tug him down to sit on my lap. I’ve never given a massage before but it shouldn’t be too hard, in principle. He gives me a look as I try to turn him so that his back is to me. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know…” he says, which is _very_ funny. It's only funny in the context of my now unwavering understanding of his faith in me. So. Maybe it's only funny to me. Who knows.

“Turn,” I squint at him to really emphasize my seriousness. He does. “Relax, please, for the love of God. Start leaving all the stress at the office, this is unacceptable.”

He leans back into my touch as I place my hands on his shoulders. “I can’t leave all my stress at the office, Shane. It’s not a fuckin’… I don’t know, phone charger. It’s a deep-seated – “

“Shhhh,” I say. I don’t have to see him to know he’s rolling his eyes at me. “Not good, though, to just succumb to stress.”

“People might die if I stop being stressed.” He makes a particularly magnificent noise when I press my thumb into his upper back, just below his neck. Noted.

“I hate to bring this up again because it’s weird.” Good way to start, Shane. I walk my fingers up the sides of his neck carefully. “But. I do want to point out that he’s keeping firm to the timeline I set, this guy. Second body was found, then a third seven days later. We have time to think. Two days, starting tomorrow.” I trace his shoulder blades. Mostly because I can. “We can manage that. Especially if we keep going with Tony’s information.”

“And what if he’s not following the pattern?” Ryan asks, low in the back of his throat. I should probably stop this. I don’t think it’s relaxing him. Pretty sure it’s the opposite. I drop my hands, wrapping my arms around his torso to pull him back onto me.

“He is,” I say. I kiss his cheek as best I can manage. “If there’s one thing I know for certain, I know that.”

He hums, resting his head back onto my shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too!” God. What a rush.

He shifts a bit in my arms. “You were right, though. This is comfy as fuck.”

“So sleep,” I say, settling my legs on either side of him. I can barely reach the lamp, but I manage. “Your turn to sleep in the nest.”

“The nest?” He asks, back flush against my chest.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m calling this.” I gesture to us, but the movement is probably lost in the dark.

I feel him move to kiss the underside of my jaw. “Very cute.”

Then, I’m asleep. Almost immediately. I blink and I'm asleep.

And then Ryan is shaking me awake, hand on my shoulder, shoulder awake and it’s hours later and it’s morning time? When did that happen? I must have slept, but I don’t feel like I did. I’m still exhausted. I just _blinked._

“Wha’s happening?” I hear myself say.

“C’mon. We slept in,” Ryan’s already dressed. That’s not fair. Now _I’ve_ gotta rush. It’s better to rush when we’re rushing together, takes some pressure off of my back. “You don’t have to put anything fancy on. We just gotta go.”

“Ugh,” I say, very intelligently. I wave him away, pushing myself up to sit. “Fine. I’ll meet you in the car, I guess.”

“I already fed Lucy and stuff, I just figured you needed more sleep.” He shrugs after that, like he doesn’t know how it makes me feel – which, for the record, is _soft._ He makes me feel soft.

I feel terrible, though, because I didn't _get_ sleep. I closed my eyes for a second and then I was awake. Fuck. 

“Sweet,” I say. I snag a kiss before I push him away because I can. “I’ll be there in a moment. Just give me a minute.”

He nods and grabs his phone, leaving the room. It doesn’t even take me a full minute to dress. I’m getting efficient at putting a dress shirt on, I must say. It’s like a superpower. I grab my shoes on the way out the door, blowing Lucy a kiss because there’s no time to pet her. I bet Ryan gave her enough attention to tide her over – as if any amount of attention would be enough.

Ryan listens to a local news station on the way to work. I tap my fingers against my leg, staring out the window. My head is still a bit fuzzy, but I feel like I have a caffeine addiction. I can’t even function without it.

“I think I have a caffeine addiction,” I say.

Ryan looks over at me. He seems to search for a trace of jest but there is none, so he shrugs. “Hm. That’s likely, I guess. I’ve kinda forced you into my sleep schedule with very little warning so I’m sorry if I had a part in it.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind, I just… eh. I feel all groggy.” I wave a hand in front of my face as if that’s supposed to do anything to help. “I might quit cold turkey.”

“Very brave,” Ryan chuckles. He takes a hand off the wheel to pat my thigh, which is a religious experience in itself. “I can’t say I’m brave enough to join you. I need to be awake and functioning today.”

“Mm. Maybe I should quit after this case, don’t you think?” I don’t want to be annoying and sleepy around Detective Ryan. He’d probably make me cry. “Don’t wanna… uh. Be a hindrance to your… shit.”

Ryan laughs again, turning into the lot. “You’re not a hindrance. I support you on this. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, okay.” That’s nice of him. I hope Detective agrees. “Thanks. Sorry in advance. I’ll try not to be a brat.”

“You won’t be.” Ryan rolls his eyes, removing his hand from my leg to park. When we’re stopped, he turns to look at me. “How about this. You sacrifice your coffee and I’ll sacrifice my grumpy attitude.”

That sounds too good to be true. “Deal.” I hold my hand out to shake, a very good bit, but Ryan unbuckles and kisses the side of my hand. I pull away like I’ve been burned and Ryan gives me a look.

I’m barely able to walk over to the elevator. I don’t know what’s wrong with me – I’m just _so_ exhausted. I know I slept, I had to have. It just didn’t register for some reason. Didn't compute. When we board the elevator, I plant a hand on Ryan’s shoulder to keep from falling over. He doesn’t seem to think much of it, thank God. I hope I get into the groove of things soon.

A couple things appear in my brain when the elevator doors open again and we’re stepping out into the main floor.

Tony’s back, sitting in a chair by Brian’s desk, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen him. He isn’t yelling, just… sitting. Waiting for us, I assume. Secondly, and less important, Brian isn’t standing at the desk and smiling at us. That’s weird. I thought that was all he did.

“Where’s Brian?” I ask quietly, as if he could hear me.

Ryan spares a glance over in that direction. “Must be getting coffees.”

“Of course,” I say. I’m so tired, I forgot he does that.

Tony sees us approaching and stands meekly. He holds a hand out to shake Ryan’s hand, Ryan obliges.

“I need to talk to you again,” Tony says. He spares a glance to the officers over at the cluster of desks, though none of them are looking at him.

Ryan nods. “You know, you could have called. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of – “

“I was in the area,” he says.

Right. That makes sense. Ryan heads off in the direction of his office and Tony and I are left to follow. I get a wave of déjà vu, slightly undercut by the sleepiness I feel. I stumble over my feet.

Tony says nothing. He strikes no conversation, something that is worryingly out of character for him. (I say this like we're the best of friends.) He just stands a few feet behind Ryan, grasping his own hands together like a lifeline. I don’t say anything. I should. I should ask him how he’s doing today but I can’t get the words out before the office is open and we’re taking our places from yesterday.

I choose to stand today because I worry, if I drag the chair over to sit, I’ll fall asleep. That’s the extent of my decision.

“Alright,” Ryan says, falling into his chair. I press my hand to the back of the chair to keep him from rolling away, but I almost topple myself over in the process. Neither of them seem to notice. Good. “I’ll open your report – I’m assuming you have something to add.”

Tony nods, adjusting his jacket. He doesn’t say anything else, watching Ryan open his laptop.

I finally find my voice, a desperate attempt to chase away the silence in the room. “How’re you doing today, Tony?”

“I’ve been better, but thank you for asking.” Finally, a smile. I give him one in return. His face fades back into what I can only describe as badly concealed fear, but I’m glad he had a moment of peace.

Ryan leans back in his chair. I take a step to the side. “So.”

Tony takes his cue. He wrestles with his sentences in his head for a moment, mouth open and eyes diverted. “I almost didn’t come back, uh, today. ‘Cause… every time I’ve said something, it’s always… it’s always overly cautious, or there’s another explanation…”

“I saw the false accusation cases,” Ryan says thoughtfully.

Tony wraps his knuckles on the arm of his (my) chair. “But I’ve been… I’ve been thinking. Hard. About this. I’ve been going through every detail I can remember, all the stuff I thought was sort of out of place, and there’s… there’s no other explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” Very good, Ryan.

“There’s… I think I told you, there’s only three in the group,” Tony begins. Ryan nods once. “But we started at ten. There were ten of us, and we… we’d just talk, you know? It was fun, it was a hobby. It’s fun to talk about these things over a beer with your pals.”

Ryan makes a noise of disagreement.

Tony shifts to sit another way, probably trying to get comfortable with the situation at large but failing. “And then… uh, a few months ago, one of the fellas brought this guy… we were, uh, sending out flyers for the group because we figured _the more the merrier,_ you know?”

I rub my eyes, gripping the edge of Ryan’s chair. What a shitty day to have missed coffee. I’m hoping Brian brings me one too. I’ll do this another day. My resolve is weak.

Ryan types something into the document. I can’t see it. My eyes aren’t focused.

“But… this new guy. He’s…” Tony lets out a long exhale, “We lost seven members in the weeks after he joined. It stopped being a fun little thing we were doing. It was like he was trying to solve it, like it was us against you guys and we were going to get to the end first.”

“You didn’t want to solve it before?” Ryan asks. He isn’t being aggressive yet, just curious. That’s good. “What were you discussing in the first place?”

“Details. Just going over things. Watching the old footage… uh, debunking theories.” He shrugs. God. It’s so awkward for me to be here. Every time I’ve seen Tony, I’ve had the urge to just tell him. To just say, _hey, I’m a good guy, I promise._ But that’s not how that works. “There were new developments every week, but we always saw through them. But we never tried to identify the guy, not before Andrew showed up.”

“Andrew,” Ryan repeats. That’s a name.

“Yes,” Tony says. “Name’s Andrew.”

“So, you think… what exactly are you telling us about this Andrew?” Ryan clears his throat. I look up to the ceiling for a moment just to keep my eyes moving.

Tony sighs. “I’ve looked at every other logical explanation. Like, maybe he was just fascinated, or he wanted to be in law enforcement or something. He was the one saying the original guy wasn’t done… uh. I mean, I’ll admit, I thought it was a phony at first, but… he’s just very convincing.”

“I remember you talking about that,” I say, just to be a part of things. “Saying there’d be more bodies turning up.”

“Yeah. But, no, Andrew was _certain_ that this was the same man, since Dan Miller was clearly not the actual culprit. That was a pretty real thing. We hadn’t focused on the description of the guy ‘til Andy.”

Ryan shakes his head but says nothing else. I told him they wouldn’t believe it.

I’m pretty sure Tony’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I don’t know why that’s so important. “So, Andrew is…?” 

“Andrew’s your guy. I’m sure of it.” Tony tilts his head forward as if to solidify his response, to lock in his answer.

Ryan types for a moment before saying, “So, you’re sure.”

“Yes. Has to be him.”

I shift on my feet. Tony looks terrified. I remember how wise he looked on the bus like he knew more about everything than anyone else but wasn't egotistical about it. Now, he just looks like a guy. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier, man? Why'd you keep it secret?"

"I don't know, it's... Andy's new to the group, I guess, and I thought maybe I was just being dramatic. Since I’m always being dramatic." He crosses his ankles, fidgeting with his hands, "I mean, he was the guy to say the original guy wasn't done, so why... why would he be the one to..."

"So, his name's Andrew...?" Ryan waits for a last name.

Tony keeps his eyes down. "Don't know."

"You _don't know_ ," Ryan says.

I put a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't look at me. I don't move my hand. He's getting frustrated, I understand that. But I wish he could see how nervous Tony is. He's probably never done this before. He's certainly braver than I.

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. "What is the point of this. Last time you gave us vague info, now you're giving us more vague info. Is there anything of use you could give us?"

Tony blinks at him, shifting his gaze to me. My turn.

"Did you know Andrew back when we met, on the bus?" My words are on the edge of slurring but I try to reign myself back in.

"Yes."

"And he was active in your meetings."

He hums, "He'd gone once or twice at that point."

"Right. Okay." I check my phone. "Well. We have two days left before he's killing again. Do you have another meeting with them in that time?"

"Yeah, there's supposed to be one tonight," his eyes go wider, like he's realizing that he's being helpful. Aw.

"Great. Go to that, get his name, we'll go from there." I look down at Ryan. He spares a glance up to me, not being as gracious as I'd like. "Is that okay?"

He makes a noise of agreement. Fine, be like that.

"Alright," Ryan says. He stands. I move my foot before the chair rolls over it. "Thank you for your help. You have my phone number. Keep me updated."

Tony stands as well. Ryan shows him out, ducking his head out of the room to point him toward the exit again. I just watch them move. I’m trying to be strong, here, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose all communication skills. Call it a hunch.

When Ryan re-enters, I look at him. I want to say _I think I need to go home._ I’m not going to.

“What do you think?” Ryan says, returning to his place. “Think he’s cracked it?”

“I’ve never seen him so scared,” I offer. I press my fingertips to my eyes. “I don’t know. I believe him, but I believed him the whole time, so.” When my hands fall, Ryan is turned to face me completely, waiting. “Uh. I guess I have a few questions.”

“Which are?”

Ryan. I don’t have the mental capacity for this right now. “Well. Yesterday, he said the other two guys in the group were talking about things beyond… uh, enthusiasm.”

“Mhm.”

“So,” I say, “Who’s the other guy? I assume one of ‘em is Andrew No-Last-Name. So why not tell us the other guy’s name?”

Ryan nods slowly. He probably hadn’t thought of that. I’m a genius. “Right. And he probably knows that guy’s full name, since he was in the group earlier.”

“Yes.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “And I don’t get why he came here. He could have called. I think he wanted to call, but he came here for another reason. I just don’t know why.”

“Right,” Ryan says. I bet he’s super impressed with me right now. He offers a small smile. “You’re good at this.” Fuck yeah, I am. Even though I’m plagued with exhaustion.

“Just paranoid, I guess. That helps.”

He laughs quietly, turning back to his desk. I think I’m seeing stars, but in the bad way. I grab the edge of his chair again to keep steady. I think I’m going to pass out soon. It’s sort of embarrassing. I’m trying to plan out the long term situation if I stay here.

“Uh,” I murmur. Ryan turns his head to look at me. His half-smile fades and he stands in seconds.

“Hey.” He has one hand on my arm, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “Shane, are you okay?”

“Yep,” I say, crossing my eyes a little to look at his hand on my head. “What?”

“You look a little pale, but there’s no fever.” He looks up at me, taking my other hand, “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I hear myself mutter, which is probably not a great thing to hear, so I clarify. “I’m exhausted for some reason.”

Ryan frowns, bringing a hand up to cup my face. I like when he does that. “You need to go home.”

“I don’t want to, but I probably should.” I lean into his palm, sighing. “I thought maybe I’d wake up eventually, but I didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” That’s me.

“It’s okay. I’ll… uh.” I know for a fact I can’t walk. Nor would I want to. “I can just take the bus, real quick.” No. NO. Definitely not.

Ryan lets his hand fall and turns to his desk, opening his desk drawer and grabbing something. I watch him move, sort of confused. He pivots on his heel, presenting his keys to me. I’m hesitant to take them.

“I… I don’t know if I should be driving right now,” I say.

“No, I – sorry, I should have explained.” He laughs and holds them out even further. “You unlock the car and wait for me. I’m gonna talk with the Chief about next steps, then I’ll be down to drive you home.”

“Oh.” I shouldn’t say anything else, but something is said anyway. “I mean – you don’t have to, I can just take the bus.”

 _Shane._ Why do I keep saying shit like that?! What if he says okay?! Shut the fuck up, Shane. If I go on the bus, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll stay awake long enough to catch my stop.

Ryan gives me a look. I hope it’s a _you know I’m not going to let that happen_ look. He opens his mouth in a semi-resigned way and it makes my stomach lurch. Fuck.

Instead of saying _fine, but be safe_ , he takes my hand and pushes the keys into my palm. I let out a sigh. He has his hand on my back, pushing me out of the office. “You go down, I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes, alright?”

I nod. If I speak, I’ll cry. Look at us! We got into our rhythm! Kind of.

I sort of… uh, wobble? My walking is reduced to wobbling as I make my way across the floor. I wave to an officer that waves first. I don’t know his name, I wish I did. I thought I knew everyone’s name.

I guess I’m mostly just frustrated. I’ve had nights where I haven’t slept before, so why is this so different? Why do I feel so terrible? Is it because I haven’t eaten anything in a while? Because I haven’t put water in my body in months? Because I have a caffeine addiction? Hm. Probably all of those, huh? I should probably take better care of myself. It’s just so fun not to. Well. Not fun. More like easy.

I lean on the elevator wall as it moves. I almost pass out there. Something about the hum of the cabin makes me want to fold in half and escape consciousness. Such is life, I guess. That didn't even make sense. Sorry. I'm... ugh. What is my brain, right now?

It’s a miracle I make it to the car. I fumble with the keys. I forget Ryan’s key fob doesn’t work so I end up having to walk around the car to unlock it before finally climbing inside. It feels like it’s been hours, but I bet we haven’t even been here for a full hour. I don’t understand time anymore.

I settle into the seat, not bothering to buckle yet. There’s still ten minutes. Probably more, really. I toss the keys into the driver’s seat. I tell myself _I’m not going to sleep_ because I’ve never been one to sleep in cars. Doesn’t feel right.

Despite this promise to myself, I blink and find Ryan buckling my seatbelt for me.

“What are you doing?” I say, though I know the answer.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” My heart’s gonna fucking explode. “Buckling you in. Sorry it took so long. You ready?”

“Yeah, I just – I blinked and then… now you’re here.”

Ryan frowns again, deeper this time. “I was gone for like thirty minutes.”

“Oh,” I hear the confusion in that one syllable.

Ryan sticks the keys into the ignition. The frown sticks. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor. That’s not good.”

“No. No, I think I’m just tired.” I don’t want to go to the doctor. “Just need sleep, prob’ly.”

Ryan has his hand on the back of my seat as he backs out, looking hot as always. “Well. If you don’t feel better after a nap, we’re going.”

“Okay, deal.” I relax against the seat, watching signs as they pass the window. “I’m sorry I’m a mess, it’s probably not ideal right now.”

“Doesn’t matter if it isn’t ideal, Shane. You’ve helped so much already and it isn’t even your job,” he chuckles, holding a hand out. I take it. He squeezes his fingers around mine. “I love you. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good.”

“I love you too.” I feel warm in my chest. It’s nice to be loved. “I just hope I helped _enough_.”

“You did.” Ryan nods, certain. “Chief says we’ll have officers posted everywhere as we move forward. Once Tony gives us what we need, we’ll be home free.”

“Okay.” I trust him. I also worry that I won’t be able to say many more words. It’s like my head has a bank of knowledge that’s just been depleted.

“I’ll stay with you for a while.” Ryan pulls into our neighborhood. When did that happen? Did I blink again? “I will probably have to go in just to supervise some, I’ll definitely be assisting in interviewing this Andrew guy when we get him.”

I make a noise. Nice.

I’m thinking about my bed. I’m thinking about crawling into bed – hopefully, Ryan will sit with me for a bit. That’s ideal. I know I’ll fall asleep immediately so I won’t be much company. I just like being near him. Ugh.

Then we’re home. And he’s helping me out of the car because I’m apparently unable to do so myself. I hold his hand on the way to the door, fumbling with my keys. I can hear Lucy sniffing at the other side of the door, probably confused by our early arrival.

“You head to bed, I’ll be there in a moment,” Ryan says, taking the key out of my hand as we enter. Lucy doesn’t bother jumping up on me, seeming to notice how frail I am. He looks at me, “Unless you need help.”

“I got it,” I say. I walk the beaten path to my bedroom. I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to go to bed. I’m hoping the guilt I feel about this will fade over time. The guilt that there are better things to do with my time. The guilt about letting Ryan down. Guilt about all the other stuff. I think, when my brain is in peak condition, it's easier to suppress my regrets. Not now. Ha. 

I hear Ryan speaking quietly to Lucy. Very cute. I wish I had the energy to witness it.

On the way to the mattress, I manage to kick one of my shoes off before flopping into pure bliss. I’ll just sleep with the other one on. I don’t care. I made it and I’m tired and I’m ready to be unconscious. So I close my eyes.

I hear Ryan come in. I hear him laugh at me a bit. I’m pretty sure he’s moving my shoe to somewhere that isn’t the middle of the floor – then he pulls my other shoe off.

“Shane,” he says, climbing into the bed next to me. “You sleepin’ yet?”

I made a _not yet_ type sound.

“Well, get to it.” He settles against the headboard, gently running his fingers through my hair. This is great.

“Sorry,” I say into the pillow. I’m surprised I’m still conscious. I think I just wanna be awake to feel him playing with my hair because it’s amazing.

“For what?”

I turn my head to the side to look at him with hooded eyes. He smiles at me and I feel like the most interesting thing in the world.

“I need to start taking care of _you_ ,” I manage.

Ryan rolls his eyes. He does that a lot.

“You do. We just need care in different ways,” Ryan says. “You let me stay with you and play with your hair like this. You help me with work. We watch movies together. I’m _well_ cared for.”

I laugh a bit at that because it sounds so ridiculous. Before I can open my mouth and say _you need to raise your standards,_ my brain catches up with me and I pass out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just finished writing the next chapter. uh. it's 11k words long. 
> 
> i'm not ready to part with this story yet!!!!!!!!!!! i'm not ready!!!!!!!!!! we've gone so far together, you and me.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence in this chapter. be warned.

And then I wake up.

The bed’s empty. I don’t open my eyes, reaching my arm out to search with my hand for the Ryan that is no longer playing with my hair. Sad. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed long enough, I’ll just go back to sleep. I think I’m well-rested, though. I wonder if it’s around lunchtime. Maybe I can grab the bus and get Ryan something from Bluestone to thank him. It’s the least I can do.

That thought flies out the window when I open my eyes to a pitch-black room. Holy shit. How long could I have possibly slept?

I reach for my phone from where it sits on the nightstand. Jesus, it’s dark in here. The sun was up before I went under. It was fucking ten in the morning. Did the universe collapse when I was out? Did I miss it?

I squint at the light on my phone, covering one of my eyes with my free hand. Eleven. Eleven at night. Eleven-thirty-five, to be precise. Thirteen hours, I slept. Wow. I better feel great after this. It’s like a detox.

Rolling out of bed was easier in my head. I’m dizzy for some reason, still feeling somewhat sleepy. I guess that makes sense. Things at rest tend to stay at rest, right?

I grip my phone in my hand and begin my journey. “Lucy?”

She grumbles from wherever she is, probably in the living room. I find my way through the hall in the dark until I reach the kitchen, flipping on the kitchen light. That’s better. Lucy stretches as she wanders into the light.

“Did you get a good bit o’ rest, lady?” I kneel to pet her, setting my phone on the ground. She lifts her head into my hands, eyes still half-closed. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

I stand, turning my phone over in my palm. I have two missed messages from Ryan. I scoop some dog food into the bowl before I open them, eventually making my way into the living room. It’s like my whole world’s been turned upside down. I’m hoping that I feel better soon – I’m still sorta icky in the brain.

At noon, he texted: _Sorry, I had to go back into the office. They’re moving forward with things now so I’ve gotta be present. Text when you wake up, please._

Two hours ago, he texted: _There are news cameras around the station taking shots of the officers walking around the building for later reports. I think I’m in one. If I am, let me know how I look. ;)_

That’s all I need to wander over to the table and grab the remote. I don’t bother to sit, I’m sure I won’t watch for long. Ideally, I’ll just go back to bed. I don’t think I’m quite ready to come back out of hibernation. I can almost see the air swimming in front of my eyes.

I text Ryan _I’m up, finally. Searching for you now._

I switch on the television, immediately raising my eyebrows at the scene I’m looking at. Clips and clips and clips of officers standing around – one by Bluestone, even. They’re really making a big deal of this, huh? I guess it’s unprecedented, but they made a whole new little logo to put in the corner. That probably isn’t best. They’ve got a guy out there who thrives off of attention. Whatever.

I turn the volume up. [I was watching _There Will Be Blood_ a few days ago and I forgot how loud the music could be.]

It’s Tammy again! I missed Tammy. We haven’t watched much TV recently.

_“… Officers have been deployed across the city to observe and search as the night continues. Chief of Police Esther Kaplan says that they expect to have the imposter captured before sunrise - many developments regarding the suspect have come about, though the name and image of the suspect has not yet been released.”_

Because they don’t have the name or image of the suspect. Obviously. Did they tell the media that they had these things? That’s quite the risk. This seems pretty incendiary. Are they just trying to get him to kill again, kill faster? So this will be over with?

_“Sources say that the police department is confident that they will find the plausible victim before another event transpires. Though there is no official curfew, the public has been warned against using public transport. All bus stops are being monitored.”_

Uh. That’s a bold claim. There is no _plausible_ victim, it could be anybody. And besides, some people have to use public transport. _And_ the last guy, Malvo. He ran away from me. He ran for a few blocks – we ended up in the woods behind his house. I remember I almost gave up at that point. And it took them a day to find him.

Oh, shit.

Fuck.

It took them a day to find him.

Okay. Okay. Don’t panic, Shane. Time just didn’t cross your mind. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. My hands are shaky as I try to dial Ryan’s number. Lucy nuzzles my hand. I give her a pet. God. Of all times to be alone, of course it’s now.

“Ryan,” I say as soon as I hear the drone finish. “Hey.”

_“What’s up, babe? I’m still in the office.”_

“I know. I’m coming over there.” I speed-walk back to the bedroom. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. "I forgot. I fucking forgot. The third one. I killed him a day before he was found. We didn't have seven days this time, we had six. That's tonight."

_"I know. I read the report, they did an autopsy which showed the time of death. We have nearly every officer positioned across the city right now."_

"I know, I saw." I almost trip over myself, pinning the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I struggle to get my pajama pants off with one hand. "They did that too, Ryan. It doesn't work."

_"Foster City is nineteen square miles. We only have eight. Easier to cover."_

"I feel like you're not listening. Are you okay?" I put the phone on speaker, struggling with my shirt. "I know this is stressful and I _know_ it's difficult, but we need to do something other than scare tactics right now. We need to talk to Tony, try and figure out more about this Andrew guy. Maybe even go to the meeting."

_"Shane. You've been very helpful, and I'm glad you’re feeling better, but I need you to let me do my job."_

I close my mouth. Holy shit. That was incredibly condescending. " _Wow._ "

_"Hey - "_

"No, yeah, you know, fuck it." So what if he's stressed? I'm trying to help. He said he’d get better at being cold. I know it might take awhile, but you’d think he’d be more aware. "Good luck with that."

 _"Thank you."_ God. I can't wait for the fucking apology I'm gonna get. This is ridiculous.

I lean over to hang up on him before he can say anything else because I have a feeling it's just going to make me mad. I get that he's under a lot of pressure to solve this thing, but he needs to listen to me. I don't even want to go to the office anymore. I'll find this guy myself. Fuck it. _Fuck it._

So I'm pulling my shoes on, grumbling to myself (and also not feeling great because my head is fuzzy from sleep and, of course, because it doesn't feel good to be told to shut up by someone you love). I'm trying to actively remember to bring a hat or something, some sort of disguise as I walk around and look in all the places I would have done something terrible. Like Ryan said, there's eight square miles. Plenty of sketchy places to dump a body. He wouldn't know that, probably. Why would he?

I don’t know where to find Tony. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get outside. I don’t know a lot of things.

My phone buzzes on the mattress beside me. I take it into my hands, likely desperate in my movements. It's a text from Ryan. _I'm sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please call me back when you can._ Ugh. Took him long enough. I don't want to call him right now. I need to _let him do his job_ or whatever the fuck he said.

I stand, slipping my phone into my front pocket. At this point, I'm motivated to find this guy before Ryan can, just to show I'm right. That's probably not good. I don't want to be a vigilante, necessarily. I'm not even sure if I want redemption. I just want this to be over.

Lucy is sitting in front of the door when I turn into the living room. I feel myself freeze.

This can't be good. I feel it in my stomach. I look down at her, at where she's staring forward. Alerting me that someone's coming, probably thinking it's Ryan. But it isn't. I can’t explain the dread in my stomach. I don't want her out here if they come to the door, when they come to the door - whoever they are.

I walk up behind her, as slowly as I can manage. I carefully peer through the side of the blinds, not daring to make myself visible, to see a red and terribly unfamiliar car in the driveway. Its headlights are off but I can barely hear the engine running through the windows. I don’t know what to do. Maybe… maybe they’re just turning around?

The likelihood of that goes out the window after a few minutes of watching. They’re watching the house, aren’t they? They’re looking for someone.

"Go to my room," I say to Lucy, as if she'll understand. She doesn't move. I hook a finger in her collar, gently tugging her away. She follows me down the hallway. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. I point into my room, "In."

She ducks her head and complies, jumping up onto the bed. She turns and lays down, waiting for me to follow. I give her a wave and a quiet _stay_ before I close the door.

I rest my back against the door, taking a deep breath. God, I hope I’m overreacting. I _hope_ that they just chose a random driveway to reprogram their stupid GPS.

My brain automatically travels to the shoebox in my closet. No. I don’t need it anymore. I can… it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Maybe I should call Ryan. But I’m mad at him.

I’m scared, though. I’m scared and I think I’d like to talk to him. We can fight later.

I have the phone to my ear before I can talk myself out of it. It doesn’t even ring once.

“Hey,” I say.

_“Hey, Shane. I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for that – I’m stressed, sure, but I shouldn’t take that out on you, I just – “_

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine – there’s a car in the driveway.” I close my eyes and swallow for a moment, regulating my breathing.

_“A… a car in the driveway?”_

“Yeah, I – “

There’s a knock on the door. Fuck.

_“Like – a police car, or?”_

“No, it’s… I should probably describe it. It’s red and… long.” I don’t want to go back out into the living room to check.

_“… And?”_

“I don’t know. I’m hiding, I can’t see it right now.” Another knock. Were they here when I turned the kitchen light on? Do they know I’m here? Can I just hide until they leave? “Someone’s knocking on the door.”

_“Jesus, Shane. Do you need me to come check?”_

“No… no, I just… I’m probably overreacting.”

_“If you’re scared, I can come by.”_

“I… sorry if you’re busy, but can you stay on the phone while I go check?” I start to move down the hall. I’m glad I’m wearing clothes. “Please.”

 _“Yeah, yes. I can stay on the phone.”_ A pause as I creep forward. Another knock. _“Do you think you’re in danger at all? I mean, I can relocate some of the officers over toward the house.”_

“I’m surprised there aren’t any over this way, really.” It seems like an oversight. I would have told them to, if I was there. But I fucking wasn’t. I was asleep. Fuck. “I don’t know if I’m in danger, that’s why I called. I wouldn’t have called if I thought I wasn’t… uh, _not_ in danger.”

_“Okay, okay. I’m here.”_

“I’m going toward the door.”

_“Like hell you are, Shane. Stay put. I’ll send someone over there to check everything out.”_

“Ryan, no. It’s okay, I’m just…” I press my back against the wall, taking a deep breath in and peeking around the corner. “Fuck. Someone’s coming up the walkway.”

I can see their outline moving, a dark figure that contrasts the blue street and orange street light. It doesn’t inspire confidence, a shadowy figure. That’s usually the sign that says something’s about to go wrong.

_“Do not go to the door.”_

“I’m going to the door.”

_“Shane, listen to me. If you truly think you’re in danger - ”_

I can’t hear anything he’s saying after that. I’m walking toward the door because I want to _know_ things. I want to be reassured that this is nothing, that I’m not in danger. I want Ryan to say _honey, I’m sure you’re overreacting._ Because I always am. It’s just gonna be a delivery person or a… girl… scout? No. It’s eleven at night.

“My head is a bit fucky still,” I say, probably cutting him off. “I slept for, like, thirteen hours. Why is my head still bleh?”

_“Good question. Did you take anything?”_

“Like medicine?” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve taken medicine in years – I mean, not counting your weird vitamin things.”

_“Your head… is fucky? What does that mean?”_

“I mean, I’m all blurry in m’brain. Can’t think.”

_“Lots of sleep maybe.”_

“I was hoping I’d wake up by now.” I stumble over my own feet. “Fuck, Ryan. Any luck finding that guy, yet?” I can see them on the other side of the door. I’m waiting for them to knock again. “I wanna go back to normal and I want you to be here all the time so I don’t have to do this shit alone.”

_“I’m sorry, baby. We’ll spend much more time together outside of the office when this is all done.”_

“Good.” I take a few steps forward. The figure knocks. “I’m gonna open the door now.”

_“… Do you have your gun?”_

“No.”

_“Do you have anything to defend yourself with? At least?”_

“Just… uh, you, I guess. I’ll say I’m on the phone with you.”

A long pause. I wrap my fingers around the doorknob. _“For the love of God, please be safe.”_

I swing the door open. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus.

Is that - ?

What?

“It’s Brian,” I say into the phone, and also to Brian’s face because Brian’s standing on the front porch. It’s dark out here.

_“… Brian’s there?”_

“Yeah, it’s just – hey, Brian.” I look down at him, trying to identify some sort of reason for his arrival. He has an iced coffee in his hand. Why? I keep my phone to my ear as I continue, “What’s… how are you?”

“Fine,” he smiles. He holds the coffee out to me. “I brought you this. I heard you weren’t feeling well.”

“You heard I wasn’t feeling well and brought me a coffee?” I ask, mostly so that Ryan can hear it as well. I guess it makes sense. Right? I wasn’t planning on seeing Brian any time soon. “That’s… nice.”

_“You’re quitting caffeine, I thought.”_

“I am, I just…” I point to the phone, letting Brian know. “Sorry, I’m on the phone with Ryan.”

“That’s okay,” Brian says, waving it off. He pushes the coffee out further. “Here.”

“Uh, I’m actually not…” I scan over Brian’s face. He’s such a square type of guy. I don’t wanna upset him, he’s… like, soft. I can just keep this for Ryan, or something. “… Uh, okay. Thanks.” I take it carefully.

I hear rustling on the phone. _“Ah, shit. Sorry, Shane, I have to go check on something really quick. I have to go.”_

“Oh,” I say. I don’t _mean_ to sound so upset but it just sort of happens.

_“I’ll call back, though. Shouldn’t take too long.”_

“Okay. Alright. Bye, I love you.” I wait for him to hang up before I stick my phone in my pocket. Then I look back to Brian. He’s still here. “Uh,” I say. “Thanks for the coffee?”

“No problem, man.”

I don’t think I’ve made eye contact with Brian for this long before. It’s sort of uncomfortable. I distract myself by reaching over to turn the porch light on. That’s better. He looks more like himself, now.

His hands are idle at his sides. “Are you going to invite me in?”

I laugh a bit at that. It’s a funny joke. He isn’t laughing. Oh. It isn’t a joke. I fade back to silence.

I rub the back of my neck, “Um…well, actually, I was going to go to sleep.”

“In your clothes?”

I look down at myself. I’m wearing my headband too. That’s certainly a hole in my story.

“No, I’d change first… ha.” I reach behind me to take the door to close it. “Thanks again, man.”

“I just wanted to talk for a bit,” he says, leaning closer as if he’s anticipating that I’ll slam the door in his face. He shrugs, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb.”

Fuck. Fuuuck. God. I thought I was going to die or something, and it’s just Brian. He came all the way out here, brought me a coffee I’m not going to drink, and I’m being rude, probably.

He looks up at me, practically fluttering his eyelashes at me. Damn it.

I hear myself sigh. “Okay. Just for a bit, I guess. You alright?”

“Yeah!” He steps inside before I can get out of his way, brushing against my side. I wish I had more boundaries. “Yeah, I just… y’know, I feel like we don’t hang out much and I know we’re pretty new friends.”

Hm. Friends, eh? I dislike him greatly, but… at least he hasn’t picked up on that yet.

He walks around the living room a bit, considering the space. I close the door behind me, adjusting my grip on the cup. This is weird. I don’t imagine he gets invited inside often. If I were to come into someone’s home, I’d probably wait for them to tell me where to go. Then again, I’m a disaster. Is this just what people do? They search around?

“Oh,” I say finally, raising my eyebrows. “Nice. Well, you know, we’ve been pretty busy.”

“Yeah, I bet you have.” He pivots to grin at me. Ew? I hate what he’s implying, as true as it may be. “I know what I said a while ago about Ryan was probably out of line and I wanted to apologize for that.”

“I can’t even remember – “

“Eh, you know – I said something about him being oblivious and implied that he enjoys putting you in danger…” He shrugs again. Oh, yeah. I remember that. Jesus. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m always awkward around new people, so I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

I cross the room, moving toward the kitchen so I can put this coffee in the fridge. I don’t respond, I only offer a bit of a dismissive laugh. I completely forgot about that. How did I forget about that?

“Are you going to drink that?”

I pause, turning to him. He’s pointing to the cup in my hand. Fuck.

“Uhhhhh,” I say, looking at it like I forgot I even had it. “I mean. I’m about to go to bed, so I was thinking about saving it.”

He noticeably gets disappointed. “Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. God. I hope he leaves soon. This is draining my social tolerance. He glances back at me. “Ryan thought maybe you’d like a coffee. Not even a little bit?”

“Wha – “ I shake my head. Ryan told him to bring me a coffee? Why? That doesn’t make a lot of sense. He seemed confused on the phone when I said Brian was here. “Fine. Alright, sure. Here.”

I take a long sip. And… yikes. Something’s wrong here. He must have gotten this at a different shop. It tastes pretty chemically, overly sweet. Very different.

I must make a face because then he’s saying, “Is it bad or something?”

“No! No, no, it’s… uh, just new,” I attempt a smile but I need to get this taste out of my mouth somehow. “Thanks. Sorry you had to come all this way.”

“I wanted to.”

“Okay.” God, I’m so _tired._ How is that even possible? I smother a yawn with my hand. “Uh. What did you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing in particular. I just figured maybe you needed someone to talk to.”

Ha. Hell of an assumption.

“Right. Well. We can catch up some other time, right?” I hear him follow me into the kitchen. I set the coffee on the stovetop and walk over to the cabinet to grab a glass. I need some water. “I’m not in the best mood right now since I’m, uh, sick.”

“Oh, you’re sick?”

“Kind of. I don’t know, I’ve been pretty exhausted the past few days. Today was rough.” I grab a small glass, hoping it’ll do the job, walking over to the sink. Good ol’ tap water. “I’ll probably be in Ryan’s office tomorrow, just to help him wrap things up after they catch this guy.”

“Right, right.” Brian reaches up to touch one of the magnets on the fridge. “That’s good. I hope you make it to his office tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

I tip my head back to drink the water, swishing it around to try and bring back some semblance of normality in my mouth. It sort of works. It works enough, I guess. I lean down to refill my cup when I catch something moving outside the window.

I squint through the kitchen light, trying to look past my own reflection in the window. It takes a moment. Brian’s chattering behind me when my eyes focus.

There's a man outside. I can see him, the right side of his body illuminated by the LED lights of the pool. Just barely dancing across the distinct shape of a man. I freeze.

“You okay, Shane?” I hear Brian's voice behind me.

“Y-yeah.” It comes out as a whisper. Holy fuck.

Brian wasn’t alone in that car, was he. Brian isn’t alone. Holy shit. Holy shit. Uh. I’m having a hard time breathing. How did it take me so long to get here? Why is my head so blurry?

"How are you feeling, Shane?"

Now the man is moving. Fuck. He's moving out of the light, slowly, until I can't see him anymore.

"Uh, I'm good." I turn to look at him. "How... why do you ask?"

I blink a few times. That smile he's wearing doesn't seem as genuine as it seemed a few minutes ago. Maybe I'm... maybe I didn't sleep enough. I’m overreacting. It’s just Brian.

"Do you want more coffee?" He asks, gripping the cup in his hand and holding it out to me.

Okay. You know, I think I'm waking up. My heartbeat is accelerating, I can feel it in my head. My eyes are open now. And I'm not liking what I see. Something's wrong, isn't it?

"I think I'm good, I'm trying to quit." I stick my hand into my pocket to grab my phone. "But thanks. You can have it, if you want."

"I don't drink coffee." His smile's gone, now. Still holding it out to me. "Not good for my anxiety."

"Oh," I say. I clear my throat. "Well, thanks for coming by."

"No problem." He doesn't move to leave. He says nothing else.

I try again. "You know, I gotta go to bed, now. So. Uh. It was nice seeing you, but."

"Right, I totally get it." Not moving. The iced coffee is sweating in his hand. "You go ahead."

"Uh, I'll show you to the door."

"I don't think I'll be leaving, actually."

My throat is dry. I don't know what to do. I’m so fucking stupid. Ryan didn't tell me Brian was coming because he didn't know Brian was coming. That's why. Ryan wouldn't have told him to bring me a coffee. Ryan doesn’t know what’s happening.

And there's a man in the backyard.

I cross my arms over my chest as if it'll calm my heartbeat. I want to search for a weapon to use but I keep my eyes on him. I have to. I'm trying to think but my brain is melting in real time.

"Okay," I begin. I just need to buy time, somehow. Try and pull a Criminal Minds, talk myself out of this. Pretend like I'm in control. "Do you have a weapon?"

He nods once. He doesn't move to put the coffee down. He moves it closer. I don't react.

“So.” My voice is gravel. I don’t have a plan. My mind isn’t clear enough to have a plan. I don’t have any keys to stab him to death with. I don’t think I even want to kill him. I’m done with that. “It’s… in the club, it’s you, Tony, and Andrew.”

“Yes.”

“And I get the feeling that Tony’s not a part of this.” My voice quivers so I clear my throat. “And… and so, Andrew’s the guy outside.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I nod. God. I’m so glad Lucy isn’t barking. I hope she’s asleep. I don’t want them to hurt her. I’d love to see them try, frankly. They wouldn’t get the fucking chance. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Turn around.” Now I feel bad for complaining so much about his smile. His blank face is not ideal right now, not helpful for my nerves. Not that he’s here to comfort me in any way.

I look toward the back door. I can’t run, can I? There’s a man outside.

“I’ll turn around after you tell me what the plan is.”

“The plan.” I feel like I’ve seen three sides of Brian tonight. I wonder if there are more. Normal Brian, Awkward Brian, Creepy Brian. What else?

Shane. Focus.

“Are you…” Hm. I don’t want to say it. I have to, though, don’t I? “Are you going to kill me?”

Brian shrugs, which I take as a definite yes. “Turn around, Shane.”

“Alright. Okay.” Is he bluffing about the weapon? Probably, right? I must not turn fast enough because he proves me wrong – setting the coffee down and pulling a gun from the back of his pants. I stare at it for a moment.

Well, here's something. He wasn’t the one to kill those people. Different make and model from the ones in Ryan’s documents. Good to note. I wonder if he’s killed anyone before. Maybe this is good news for me.

“Move.” He isn’t pointing it at me. I see his hands fidget with it. He’s nervous. Nervous Brian?

“Are you nervous?” Shut the fuck _up,_ Shane, holy shit.

“Turn.”

“Okay.” I turn. I don’t… I don’t _think_ he’s going to shoot me in my back, right now. That would be anti-climactic. Plus, he’s not the leader here. That’s abundantly clear. No one in their right mind would place Brian in charge. I’m safe until Andrew’s here. I bet he wants to kill me. I’ve got some time. “Alright. Now what?”

I feel the air shift behind me. There’s a white-hot pain on the back of my head, and then it all goes.

I will give him credit. I can say with confidence that I’ve never been pistol-whipped before, so. Good on him. I’ve only seen it happen in movies. Usually, in movies, the bad guy gets pistol-whipped and he’s _out._ He slumps to the floor and it’s all okay.

I’m not unconscious – not entirely. I can feel my face on the kitchen floor, I can feel someone wrapping something cold around my wrists. I keep my eyes closed, letting the pain flow through my head. It isn’t unbearable. I’ve had worse injuries. I just… I can’t _hear._ Not well, anyway. I’m focusing on everything else. Trying to figure out what I’m going to do. What am I going to do? Am I bleeding?

I wonder if I should take this opportunity to go back to sleep. They won’t kill me while I’m sleeping. There’s a pretty wide margin of error, here, though. This was premeditated. I never did anything premeditated. I don’t know how this works. I’m out of my element. That’s not ideal. I guess I just want this to be a dream. I want to wake up and I want thirty minutes to have passed and I want Ryan on the bed beside me playing with my hair.

After a few minutes, I hear Brian muttering something in the living room, accompanied by the sound of another voice. That’s Andrew. His voice is deeper than I anticipated.

 _“… Ryan’ll be gone ‘til morning. They’ve got him stuck at the office.”_ Brian.

_“Good. No cops over this way, you said?”_

_“Apparently not.”_

_“Right.”_

God. My neck isn’t what it used to be. I’m not made to be pressed against a floor – I mean. Not like _this,_ anyway.

I open my eyes hesitantly. I anticipated a large ol’ pool of blood around me, but there’s nothing. I know I’m bleeding a bit, I just can’t see it. That’s for the best.

I attempt to reach up and touch the back of my head, but my hands are tied. Duh. I need to find a way to sit up. I roll onto my stomach, managing myself up onto my knees. It takes less time than I expect. I think I watched a video once where some guys had to navigate a fake kidnapping. Who says television rots your brain? Look at me now!

I groan as I see them, the two drops of blood on the ground next to me, and immediately wish I hadn’t.

_“Did you hear that?”_

_“Is he awake already?”_

_“Can’t be.”_

_“Go – go fucking check, idiot.”_

Brian stumbles back into the light. I lean to sit back against my cabinet, accidentally bumping my head against it in the process. I make another noise.

“What the fuck – how the fuck are you awake?”

I see Andrew’s shadow in the living room, just out of reach of the kitchen light. “How. The fuck. Is he awake.”

“Good morning?” I say. Fuck. Don’t be a smart-ass, Shane. We’ve been over this. I lean a bit to look behind Brian. “You must be Andrew.” Why do I keep doing this to myself? Humor isn’t a coping mechanism in life-or-death situations. When will I learn?

“You… you were _out,_ ” Brian’s babbling again. It makes me feel better that he’s an idiot. I know Andrew isn’t one, though. Brian turns to look over his shoulder, “He was out, I gave him the coffee and I hit him – “

“You gave him the coffee…” Andrew steps into the light. Hm. He’s the same as Brian, nearly. They look like they came from the same factory. They must have forgotten to flip the idiot switch on Andrew. Am I being harsh? I’m tied up, I think I should be allowed some rudeness.

“I did, look – “ Brian turns to point to the cup on the stove. It’s nearly full.

Andrew lifts it. As he does so, I stare up at it. There’s white stuff at the bottom, clumped and untouched. Oh.

“Looks like he didn’t drink enough,” Andrew turns to me. “Since he’s still awake.”

“What’s your last name, Andrew?” I ask. I probably shouldn’t. I should keep my mouth shut. But I can’t. It’s impossible.

“He didn’t want to drink it,” Brian says, looking skittish next to Andrew. His cool-guy façade is burned out. He seems like the kind of guy to be concerned about consequences. That’s a mistake. “But he drank some – and he’s not feeling well, since he hadn’t taken any in a while.”

“Taken any?” I say.

Andrew makes a frustrated noise, "Oh, so he didn't _want_ any. Very sweet."

Brian looks down at me. He doesn’t answer my implied question. Andrew doesn’t answer my last name question. Useless.

I try again. “What’s in the coffee?”

Brian shifts on his feet as if he’s wondering if he should answer. Andrew’s eyes are burrowing holes into my face. Is this the guy who wanted to impress me so much? I don’t think so. I was hoping for some sort of awe-filled expression. He seems like he hates me. Brian adjusts his grip on the gun.

“Okay,” I say, which makes Andrew smile for some reason. “I stopped drinking caffeine today.”

“Quite a coincidence,” Andrew leans on the fridge.

This is ridiculous. Why even bother to drug me if they were going to shoot me anyways? Just to feel special? To feel they did something? This is stupid. Why is this happening to me? Couldn’t they just… get it over with?

I wish I would have told Ryan to send those stupid cop cars. I wish I would have told him I forgive him for being snappy earlier. God. I hope they don’t have to make him ID my body after this is over. They’d better keep my face clear enough to make it easy.

Andrew is staring at me. I don’t like that one bit. I can see the weapon under his shirt.

“You look different than I thought you would,” he says, stepping closer to me. That’s not what I want to hear.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Not funny. Not funny, Shane. Andrew laughs at it, but I don’t want to make him laugh.

“They didn’t get your face even _close_ in those sketches.”

I hum in agreement. I’m an odd bird. Weird angles.

“How did you do it?” He keeps moving closer. I try to back into the cabinets, but my arms are in the way. I can’t press my back to the wood. My shoulders ache. He kneels next to me. I try to move away. Gross. “You almost did it. Almost got away. You were _so close._ Too bad you had to involve yourself. Hm? Couldn’t stay away?”

“Ryan asked me to help,” I say. I lean my head away.

“Now… why in the world would Ryan ask _you_ to help?” I feel like he’s getting all of his lines from movies. That’s likely. That’s what I would have done if I was a psychopath that didn’t know when to quit. I wonder if he likes Shawshank Redemption.

I shrug. I wish I didn’t bring Ryan up. But it was gonna come up anyway. “He was stuck. I watch movies. Thought I’d be of some assistance.”

“Does he know about you?” I hate the way he’s looking at me, right now. I wish he’d stop, but hey – we can’t always get what we want.

“He knows a lot about me, sure.” I try to move again but Andrew hooks a finger in my collar. Blegh.

“Does he know what you’ve done?” Andrew and Brian have a weird way of smiling. Like they were made to be evil, or something. “Now, _that_ would be something.”

I should lie. I’m going to. I’m going to lie. It wouldn’t be good to say the detective knows about my actions. “No. Of course not.”

“How in the hell did you manage that?” He shakes his head at me, like he’s impressed and yet disappointed at the same time. Maybe he wishes he could have gotten away with it. In your dreams. “Lots of lies, am I right?”

“Oh, _so_ many.” I offer a smile. He doesn’t seem to like that, standing again. I watch him go, lifting my head to follow him with my eyes. He lifts his shirt to grab his weapon. Oh, I didn’t say anything _that_ bad. C’mon. Is he gonna shoot me over _that_? What did I even say?

He doesn’t cock it. He just holds it, to establish dominance. It isn’t working. I don’t know why I get the urge to be jaded in these terrible situations. It happened with the strangle guy too. I just can’t keep my mouth closed. Every other part of me is meek, but… as soon as death is approaching, I’m light as a feather. It’s like adrenaline is a demon that takes over my body or something. Very interesting.

“Is it a coincidence that you moved here?” He says, gesturing to the house with his gun. It’s a funny image. I don’t laugh. “Down the street from a very important person in law enforcement. Couldn’t have been, am I right?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to entertain this. I don’t want to talk about Ryan anymore. I miss him. I love him so much. I hope I get to see him again, but it’s not looking super likely.

Andrew opens his mouth to say something else, weird smirk painted on his face, when my phone vibrates again.

Speak of the devil.

“What the fuck is that?” Andrew asks me. His smile’s gone again. What a shame. _Be serious._ He points the gun at me.

“Ryan said he’d call me back,” I say, glancing at Brian, who has successfully metamorphosed into his final form – Terrified Brian. “And it would be _terribly_ suspicious if I didn’t pick up.”

Andrew walks a little frustrated circle around the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. It’s funny, all of the mistakes that are happening. Trying to drug me, that not working. Me getting a call from Ryan twice, placing Brian at the scene. Brian being a wimp. I like seeing him frustrated. Probably doesn’t look good for my odds, but damn is it satisfying.

“Fine. _Fine_. Answer.” He looks like he’s about to kick the wall, but he doesn’t. I wonder if I have insurance for this.

“I don’t have hands,” I shift up and onto my knees, showing the wrists bound behind my back. “Need those.”

“Brian can hold the phone. Right, Brian?”

Brian looks between us, trying to stammer out an excuse not to do that.

“I don’t want him reaching in my pocket,” I say, because that’s true. I’ve gone this far without having to touch this guy. And it’s my front pocket. Gross.

“Tough. Brian.” Andrew nudges Brian, who sighs and starts to move toward me.

I shake my head, falling back onto my stomach. I roll onto my front, onto my phone. I probably look ridiculous. I _feel_ ridiculous. Better to feel ridiculous and dead.

“You’re not touching me,” I say. Way to establish boundaries at the worst possible time. I feel Brian move behind me. “Nope. No.”

I feel a gun prod at the back of my neck.

“Go ahead and shoot me,” I say, which is not very smart. I’m making wild assumptions about these guys. It’s a bold assumption to dare these guys to shoot me when they have two guns stacked against my _no guns._ “I’d rather die than have _Brian_ stick his hand into my pocket. Thanks.”

The vibration stops. I let my forehead rest against the ground. It starts to ring again. Good. He knows I’m not asleep. He probably knows that, if this was a normal night, I would have been waiting for his call.

“Fuck,” I hear someone whisper. I’m not sure who it is. “Fuck. Fine.” Andrew, probably.

I hear something behind me, feel something sharp press against my back. A snip. My hands fall at my sides and I sigh, pushing myself to sit. I look up. Two guns pointed at me. Brian’s hands are shaking. Bless. I roll my shoulders, trying to stretch the ache away.

“Answer the phone.” Andrew glances down at the phone that’s vibrating in my pocket. “If you say anything to imply we’re here, you die.”

“Yep,” I say, rubbing my wrists. What a day. I reach into my pocket for my phone, scrambling to get it to my ear. Is it wrong that I’m still giddy to talk to Ryan? Are my priorities wrong?

_“Hey. Shane. Hey. Are you okay?”_

He sounds like he’s breathing heavy. Did he just run somewhere?

“Did you just run somewhere?” I scan Brian’s face. I can literally see his morality coming back. It’s in his eyes. He’s starting to regret this. Regretful-Terrified Brian. Like phases of the moon.

_“No. I just. You didn’t answer, and I thought – I thought you were in danger. Or something. Or dead.”_

“Almost,” I say. I turn down the volume so they can’t hear him. “Almost there. Almost… uh, that.”

_“What?”_

“Yeah, Brian left. A while ago.” This is what people do in movies, right? They do the weird phone-call-answer-thing and hope to God the other person understands. I hope Ryan understands. “Sure. I went to the grocery store last week but I’d be glad to go again.”

 _“Shane.”_ His voice is shaking. I can hear his office door shut. I can hear his loud-ass keychain. _“Shane. Please don’t tell me – “_

“I’m at home, yeah. About to go to bed. For a while.”

Andrew sees through that line immediately. He straightens his arms, more precise in his aim. Fine. I shrug my shoulders. At least he didn't make me put the phone on speaker. Ryan always says I'm lucky. I wish my luck would manifest in a better way. 

_“What… holy shit. Okay. So, you… say no if something’s wrong. Or something. Fuck.”_

It’s good that he’s freaking out. Not… not _good_. But it’s good that he cares, I guess. Not that I thought he wouldn’t. I don’t know. Don’t listen to me.

“No, no. _No_ , I’m just tired.” I'm feeling like James Bond. Like a stupid, stupid James Bond.

_“Okay. Okay. Okay. I’m. Okay, I’ll send everyone over there. You’re at the house.”_

“That’s me. Couch potato.” I smile at Brian. He doesn’t know what to do with that information so he looks down at his feet, still pointing his gun forward. “Anyways. I love you.”

_“No. No, don’t hang up. Don’t – please, don’t hang up. Stay on the phone with me, baby. I’m coming to get you, okay? Don’t worry. Is – Lucy’s okay, right?”_

“Yes. Of course. Isn’t she always? But I gotta go, I’m… I’m very tired.” Andrew nods once. He likes that answer. I wonder if he knows what I’m doing. He’s smart, probably.

_“Shane, please. Jesus.”_

“I’ll see you when you get home. Take your time.”

I can hear him running. I can hear those god-awful hallway doors crashing open. _“I’m o-on the way, Shane. Don’t – don’t get yourself killed, for the love of God.”_

“Okay. Bye. I love you.”

As soon as I hang up the phone, Andrew’s kicking it out of my hand. Jesus. I don’t have much time to groan about the pain there. I cover my head with my hands – I can see his shoe coming my way. It’s sharp when it hits my side, when it clips my stomach. I guess he _really_ didn’t like that line.

“Andrew, Jesus – “

“You’re. Lucky.” Andrew manages through ragged breathing, words punctuated by sharp kicks. I curl into a ball on the floor, pressing my back to the cabinet. I haven’t gotten my chest stomped in since high school, this is quite a walk down memory lane. It aches in the worst ways. I hope he hasn’t broken my ribs. I need those. “Lucky I have to wait.”

Oh, yeah. Malvo was killed around one in the morning. I probably have about an hour left. I can wait an hour. Ryan’ll be here in an hour. Right? I hope he doesn’t kick me for an hour. That’s not what I want.

I wait until the assault stops to roll onto my back, my palms facing up beside my head. I stare up at the ceiling, feeling the pain sink into my body. It still doesn’t hurt worst than getting strangled. I mean, it’s actually pretty funny how you experience pain following that. Stubbed toes are like butterfly kisses at this point.

“Why wait?” I say. My lungs are having a rough time doing their job right now. I’m focusing on the upside – Ryan’s on his way now with cops in tow. I’ll make it. I have to make it.

I have to make it.

“You know _why_ ,” Andrew raises his heel above my hand, stepping down. I don’t react. I have other things to focus on. Like breathing. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Andrew,” Brian says. I glance over at him. He doesn’t have his gun anymore. Where did it go? “Andrew, you didn’t say you were gonna do this.”

I make a face despite the pain, one of those _excuse me?_ faces. Andrew mimics it as he turns to face him.

“Do what.”

“I thought – ” He noticeably shrinks under Andrew’s gaze. I get it, now. I get why all those people left. He’s a terror. “I thought it was gonna be quick, I didn’t think – “

“It might have been quick if you hadn’t fucked it up.”

Good, good. Fight with each other for the next five minutes while we wait for the cops to arrive. I need to figure out how to get Andrew to put his gun down. I don’t think that’s even possible. As soon as the cops pull up, Andrew’s gonna put a bullet through my head. I know it. He’s ending me either way.

Though, to my credit, I hadn’t anticipated the kicking. Maybe I’ll be wrong again.

They’re still bickering. Brian’s eyes couldn’t go any wider. I try to put my saddest face on when he glances over at me. Gotta humanize me somehow. Andy here’s definitely not going to do it.

Andrew looks at me. I drop the sad face. He won’t believe it. Psycho.

“Make him drink the rest,” he says softly. “I need to grab something from the car.”

“I – “ Brian says. Andrew’s already leaving, making his exit through the front door. I wonder what he’s getting. I wonder how long I have until he gets back.

Brian looks down at me. His eyes flicker to the coffee. I can see the gears turning in his head. He’s having doubts. Good. Goodgoodgood.

“I…” he says. “I didn’t…”

“You gave him my name, didn’t you.” I don’t think I can cry on command. That would help my case. Where the fuck is his gun?

“I… you… you killed all those people, of course I gave him your name.” He takes the coffee. “You needed to be punished.”

Gross. “Right. And that’s your job.”

“Yes. Yeah, it is.” He grips the cup, coming closer to me.

“Hey,” I say, holding my hand out to take the cup. He hesitantly hands it over.

He nods once. What a fucking idiot. “You’d better drink that before he gets back.”

I pretend to take a sip through the straw. One of many good things about paper straws – opaque. “Alright.”

He turns to look toward the front door. I can see it. The gun’s poking out of the back of his pants. If I can just get him close enough… If I can manage to do something right… maybe I can get it.

“I just…” Brian shakes his head, turning back to me. I know what I need to do. I just need to find the right time to do it. “Uh. Shane, I… I’m sorry, I just… you’ve gotta die today, that’s… that’ll be the end of things.”

“Okay.” I let my eyelids go heavy. Is this supposed to be a sedative? Or poison? What the fuck is in this? I’ll pretend to die, how about that? “That’s okay…”

“Hey, are you – “

I slump over. I drop the cup for dramatics – the plastic lid gets knocked off and cold coffee spreads across the floor. It seeps into my lower pant leg. My body aches in this position, my head bowed and my shoulders curved. I hope Ryan gets here soon. If I fuck this whole thing up, I don’t think they’ll necessarily keep firm to the plan.

Brian curses under his breath. I hear him take a hesitant step forward. I keep my eyes closed.

“Shane?” He says quietly. I hear him shifting. I’ll bet he keeps looking for Andrew. “Are you – you’re asleep?”

God, I hope this works. I need to give Lucy a hug after this. I need to give _myself_ a hug after this.

I feel him near me. I feel him prod my arm with his finger. Ugh. That’s not how you check to see if someone’s dead. This isn’t Scooby Doo.

“… Shane?”

I hope I never have to hear his voice again after this. He just needs to get a little closer so that I can grab the gun and get the fuck out of here. I won’t shoot him but I’ll… uh, threaten him. That’s what I’ll do.

I feel him pat my shoulder. Oh? Is this… is he being nice? What? Is he crying? What?!

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t – “

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hear Andrew’s voice. I hear Brian scramble away from me, up onto his feet. I open my eyes. Andrew drops a box of black garbage bags on the ground. Are those… are those for me? “Did I just hear you _apologize_?”

“What? No.” Very convincing, Brian. Jesus.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Brian. You and Tony are the exact fucking same.”

I sit up all the way, settling back against the cabinets. The attention isn’t on me anymore. Andrew cocks his gun and aims it at me. Brian holds a hand out. Brian! My protector! My weird, druggy, awkward, idiot protector. I hate that I just thought that.

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna be a part of this anymore.” Brian shakes his head. He puts his hand on his hip, the hip with the concealed carry. “You do what you want. I can’t be a part of this.”

Well, fuck. Leave me alone with a maniac, Brian. So much for a savior. I lift my hand to feel the back of my head. Most of the blood has dried, thank God, but it still stings. I feel like they forgot that my hands are free. They're lucky I'm done killing people. 

Andrew sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Sure. Get the fuck out of here. Go.”

Brian hesitates. “What – “

“Go. See if you can run faster than a bullet.”

Oh. I blink. Suddenly, I feel like this isn’t about me anymore. I feel like I’m not in immediate danger. Thank God. I bet they’re almost here. They’d better be. Andrew brought discount body bags in here. It’s serious. Not that it wasn’t before. Not like I’ve been taking this seriously up to this point.

I can hear the faint sound of Ryan’s shitty brakes outside. Fuck yes. They must not hear, though, because they don’t flinch.

“Andrew,” Brian says. Oh, shit. His voice is deeper now. Less… uh, idiot-like. I don’t know how that makes me feel. Certainly not _better._ I don’t feel _better_ about this. “Please. I just want to leave.”

“You’re not going to – “

It’s fast. I don’t know when Brian drew his gun. I didn’t see him move to grab it. I don’t know when he aimed it for Andrew’s forehead. I think I missed the initial shot. I see Andrew hit the ground mid-sentence – on the floor. My floor. I can’t look away.

Lucy starts barking at the noise.

Brian’s breathing heavily. He looks around the room, stuttering something out. Yet another clue that he hadn’t killed anyone up to this point. I think he’s apologizing again. Probably telling me that he has to go. I don’t tell him there are police outside. Why would I? I’m too busy looking at the body on the ground. Focused. Every time I killed someone, it was dark. And quick. And I never looked back. This is new. This is… uh, gross.

All that goes through my mind is a quote from Red about the warden of Shawshank. I alter it a bit, to fit my situation obviously: _I’d like to think that the last thing that went through his head, other than that bullet, was how the hell Shane Madej ever got the best of him._

I think that has quite a ring to it. Makes it seem like I did much more than I did. In reality, I’m just sitting on the ground and watching everything unfold in my favor. Not _entirely_ in my favor. My body hurts.

“Fuck, I – “ Brian looks back at me. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, scanning over me as if he’s trying to identify exactly how many of my injuries are his fault. Before he can apologize again, he rushes toward the front door – at the precise moment police are kicking it in.

I don’t know what happens to me. It’s as if, as soon as they enter my home, all of the energy in my body drains through my limbs and pools onto the floor. I feel myself collapse backward into the cabinets, feel my head bang against the wood. Right on the injury. Nice. I close my eyes, hissing in a breath. God. I think Andrew broke some ribs. I’ve never broken ribs before, but they _feel_ broken.

I don’t hear Lucy barking anymore. I bet she knows I’m okay. She knows everything.

I hear the commotion of Brian’s arrest, I hear his half-hearted apologies. I hear some semi-familiar officer voices saying my name, telling me I’m safe. I know I’m safe. I’m in my own home. I don’t know where Ryan is. I know he isn’t one of the people lifting me off the ground and carrying me out. I murmur a few _ow’s_ for the hell of it. They’re definitely not treating me like first-class mail, I can tell you that much.

“Hey, my dog’s in there,” I say quietly, squeezing my eyelids shut tighter. “I need – she needs to go outside for a bit. I need to hug her. N’ give her a treat. Please.”

There isn’t a reply to that last part, just a hardly comprehensible order to check on her from one officer to another. Fine. I get this is high stakes. I don’t want Lucy in here with this dead guy. Someone’s gotta pet her.

There’s no reason for me to open my eyes until I hear his voice, faint over the commotion –

“He’s right there! I see him, let me – let me through, I swear to God. I’ll report you.”

I crack an eye open just in time to see him dodging people in the crowd to get to me. God, there are so many people in front of my house. What the fuck? When did they get here? Who are they? Why are they separating me from the love of my life?

The paramedics help me into the ambulance. Ryan is right here with me, though he sits on the opposite end of the ambulance. I open my mouth to ask a very simple question, _why are you all the way over there?,_ when he shakes his head.

“Believe me. I’d love to hold you right now, but they have to check some things. I can’t interfere.” He frowns, looking over me. I hope I don’t have to take my shirt off. I bet it’s unseemly under here. He frowns deeper, “And, I need to ask, – uh, that coffee that Brian gave you – “

“Had something in it,” I finish, which makes Ryan’s eyebrows curve downward. In anger, I assume. “Not poison, I don’t think. I don’t know what it is.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Ryan looks up to the roof of the ambulance as if to curse God. “They’ll have to swab your mouth and, uh, take blood for the lab, then.”

“Okay. And then?” I can feel myself smiling. Why am I smiling? I guess I’m just glad to see him. God. He’s so handsome. This is the part of the Criminal Minds episode where the victim is all like _well, you’re a sight for sore eyes._ Or something like that. I’m not going to say that, though. Not right now.

“Then I’ll be over there.” He smiles back. I can see tears in his eyes. Now _I’m_ going to cry. “Jesus, Shane. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I should have listened.”

“To what?” I tilt my head. A man steps into the back of the cabin with us, sitting in front of me. I look at Ryan, “It’s not like I told you this _exact_ thing would happen.”

“I know,” he says. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. He lets out a long breath, wiping a tear away as it falls. Aw. I love him so much.

All of the official stuff doesn’t take too terribly long. I ask that the guy swab me first so Ryan can sit closer, which he does. Ryan holds my hand while they draw blood. I almost get comfortable, leaning into his side and just passing out, but the guy asks me about my injuries.

“Oh, right,” I say. I sit up straighter, the movement hurts. I audibly groan and Ryan shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. I pull my headband off of my head to fall in my lap. “I got hit in the head.”

He seems to think that’s the only one, understandably, so he mends that wound first. I’m glad. That’s my main concern, I guess. Gotta make sure my brains aren’t exposed, or something. Yuck.

“Okay, all good,” he says, prompting me to turn back around. That was easy enough. I don’t know what sort of bandage he put on my head but it feels like it’s about to fall off. Hair and adhesive don’t work too well. And sweat, I guess. Ew.

I clear my throat. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him about the other stuff. I just wanna go back to bed. They won’t let me go to bed _now,_ though. And not in my own bed. “Thanks.” Eh. I gotta, right? What if my ribs are broken? “Oh. And, uh. Just one more thing.”

I glance down at his name badge. Scott. That’s funny. That’s my brother’s name. Scott looks at me expectantly, waiting for the _one more thing._

“One more thing?” Ryan asks, leaning forward to look over my face.

“Uh.” I gesture to my torso. “There was a bit of an altercation.”

Scott seems to understand. “Alright. Would you mind?”

I sigh. I _guess._ I struggle to lift the fabric of my shirt for a moment but I somehow manage to power through it, lifting it over my head and off to fall down my arms.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Ryan mutter beside me. I turn to look at him. He’s crying again, hand over his mouth as he scans over me. I don’t dare to look down. “What did they _do_?”

“Andy got a little mad about my phone call with you,” I pat his hand. “But hey! I’ve had worse.”

It’s much easier to act blasé about this now that I’m not in danger. If he and Brian hadn’t gotten into that little fight at the end, this would have been a very different interview. Maybe I want Ryan to think I'm stronger than I am.

Ryan gives me a look. I wipe his face with my thumb before Scott instructs me to lift my arms.

It’s a pretty easy injury, apparently, at least regarding next steps (whatever that means). Scott says I’ll need to go in for X-rays. I almost ask if we can do it tomorrow, but I know the answer. Whatever. Scott fixes me up and shakes my hand before hopping out the back and disappearing into the crowd. I hate to see him go. A man of few words.

Ryan kisses my cheek before standing in front of me, helping me get my shirt back on. He shakes his head at me, looking over me again and again and again. It almost makes me dizzy. I let him, though, because I’m having a blast looking back at him.

Eventually, it becomes clear that he’s not going to say something. He’s just going to make that upset face and sigh at me. I guess I’ve gotta take the initiative, here.

“Can you send someone to get Lucy out of the house?” I say, because I can’t leave her alone for long. Not in there. “Please.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll…” he grabs his phone. “I think they’re with her, but I’ll get Jackie to take Lucy to my house. She’s great with dogs.”

“Okay,” I say. I nod for a moment until it makes me dizzy. “So, we’re staying at yours?”

“Um. For a few days. Until we get this investigation done.” He clears his throat. “Is… is that okay, I mean – we can grab some stuff for you at the house, some of Lucy’s things.”

“Okay.” I’m down. I’m _so_ down. I’d love to sleep in Ryan’s bed. I’d love that. Yes. I’m trying to decide whether or not my excitement for the future is because I’m genuinely over this whole thing already or because I’ll have a trauma problem that’ll spontaneously manifest in the next year. I’m hoping for the former.

Ryan is texting Jackie, fingers flying across his phone screen. I try not to watch. I can’t help but stare at the screen, though, because I’m nosy. I see the last message he sent – _Shane in trouble, rolling out. Watch office for me._

“Do I…” I begin, breaking my gaze from him and looking around the digs. I’ve never been in an ambulance. What a day. I wonder if I can get one of those blankets. “Do I get one of those blankets?”

“Blanket – oh.” Ryan laughs a bit, ducking down and pulling one out of a container. He unravels it, draping it around my shoulders. “There.”

“Wow,” I say, pulling it tighter around myself. “This is nicer than I thought they’d be.”

“ _So_ glad to hear it.” Ryan settles back beside me. I lean into him, my head on his shoulder. He lets his phone fall asleep in his hand.

“Can we bring Lucy to the X-ray?” I ask. Ryan turns a bit to look at me. “Not… uh, _in_ it, but like… around. In the hospital.”

“Yes, of course.” He smiles at me before resting his cheek on my head. “Anything you want, baby. You got it.”

I know… I know I should be focusing on what happened. Of course I should. I almost died for the second time in my life and I did a lot of things wrong tonight. That’s for sure. Uh. But I don’t want to think about it anymore. I guess that’s my thing, at this point. I just wanna move on. I’ve been trying to move on for… what, nine months now? Together with Ryan for six months, here three months before that. I’ve spent almost a full year running. I want to keep running until I can slow down long enough to take a breath.

I want to think about the next few years. I want to think about Ryan moving in _officially_. About getting a bigger couch and linking our Netflix accounts. I want to think about tomorrow when Ryan is letting me sit in his lap because I’m in pain and I’m whining for him to give me attention. I want to think about working at Bluestone and being able to wave to him from our respective parking lots. I don’t want to think about Foster City, I don’t want to think about the things I’ve done.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry to those people’s families and to the people’s lives I’ve taken and ruined because I wasn’t thinking clearly – no, I was thinking clearly. I was just thinking _wrong_. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that, and I shouldn’t. I won’t. I just don’t want to be that person anymore. I’m finally done.

I nearly jump out of my skin when Ryan’s phone rings. I glance down out of instinct, mostly to make a joke about _oh, I hope you’re happy with her_ or something. But I clock the area code and I point.

“Illinois,” I say quietly. Like I just remembered where I grew up. As if I could forget.

“Seems so,” Ryan says. He doesn’t seem to think much of it, holding it to his ear. “Detective Ryan Bergara of the Santa Monica – oh.”’

I squint at him. I can vaguely hear the noise of someone speaking on the line. I’m intrigued. Ryan’s face lights up and he glances over to me as if he’s hearing all of my thoughts through the speakers.

He continues, “I’m honored to speak to you. Yes… Hi!… Yes, of course. Yes. Here he is.”

I stare at the phone being held out to me.

“It’s for you.” I don’t trust his smile. I got a new smile complex out of this experience, that’s for sure.

“Who’s – “

“Just take the phone, Shane.”

I concede. My hand shakes as I accept it, because I can never seem to not be shaking anymore, holding it to my ear. “Um. Hello?”

_“Shane. Oh, thank goodness. You weren’t answering your phone. Are you – are you alright? Are you safe? You’re out of the house? You’re safe?”_

I listen to her voice as she goes through the questions. I listen. I’m trying to connect the dots in my brain as she speaks, my head having quite a rough time doing so, until she finally finishes and the few moments of silence give me a moment of clarity.

Holy shit.

“… Mom?”

 _“Yes! Yes. Yes, it’s me! Oh, goodness. I should’ve – yes. Hello. It’s been… oh, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”_ She laughs a bit and it’s so familiar I feel sick. In a good way. Good nausea. Maybe it was whatever was in the coffee.

“About ten years?” I say. I close my eyes because holy shit. I sink down in my seat, closer to Ryan. “Um. Wow. Okay. How – how are you? How’s dad?”

_“Don’t worry about us, please! My gracious. Are you hurt?”_

“Am I…? What?” It took a moment for me to realize how weird this is. She called Ryan’s phone? Why? Why _now_? How does she know?

_“I’m watching the news.”_

“Schaumberg is covering Santa Monica news?” I look at Ryan as though he has an answer. He shrugs, though he’s grinning wider than I’ve ever seen. Damn, his teeth are white.

_“No, no. I – well. This is embarrassing. Scott set up a Google alert on our phones that goes off when your name is posted to the web. Because… oh, you know. You never call and we haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. We just want to know how you are.”_

I laugh, much harder than I should. I rest my head back against the wall behind me before I jump and place my hand over my bandage. Ow. Ryan rolls his eyes at me.

“Of – of _course_ you have Google alerts for my name.” I’m glad I didn’t get caught now even more than before. Could you imagine? I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine my mother running to her iPhone 4 because she heard the Google alert about her son – only to see my mugshot. Jesus.

_“Anyway. Yes. We’re watching the footage – you’ve, hm, got a lovely home!”_

Wait, what? There are cameras? Here? Has she seen me yet? I wobble to my feet. Ryan almost trips over himself accompanying me, holding my hand as I step down into the driveway. He’s already taking care of me. I love him. I hope I heal fast so he doesn’t have to take care of me for too long. He’s done so much already.

I scan across the crowd, trying to identify a news crew in the chaos. I spot the peak of what I assume is a camera, walking until there’s a breach in the people wide enough for me to wave through. I do so.

“I’m waving,” I tell her into the phone, waving. “Hey!”

 _“Oh!”_ There’s rustling. _“Mark! Mark, look.”_

I missed them. I _miss_ them. I can’t even see them, but it’s almost enough that they can see me. I feel Ryan’s hand in mine, warm and comforting. I feel the blanket falling off of my shoulders but Ryan puts it back.

_“You’ve grown so much, Shane. My goodness.”_

I miss Midwestern phrases. No one says _goodness_ over here.

“It has been ten years, yes,” I give a final wave before backing up to sit down. Ryan helps lead me in the right direction. I’m not quite ready to walk around willy-nilly like that. I groan, sinking down. “A lot has changed, uh, for sure.”

There’s a pause, long enough for me to focus back on the pain I feel. _“Oh, and… so… well. And that Detective Ryan.”_

“Yes, Mom. We’re. Uh.” I remember telling her about my… hm, _preference_. It was a surprisingly easy conversation. Of course it was. They’re saints, my folks. I love ‘em. It’s funny to consider – for the past ten years, my mom thinking about me. Wondering if I was safe while also wondering if I had a fucking boyfriend. Hilarious.

 _“Wow. Fancy that.”_ That’s such a mom thing to say.

“Yeah.” I look at Ryan and nod once. He’s smiling at me, lit up by the LEDs of the ambulance and the flashing lights surrounding us. He looks so beautiful. I wonder if that’s what I’m supposed to be thinking about. “Fancy that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> sorry it took me so long to post this. i've had it done for a few days but i'm not ready to leave this yet. one more chapter left, hopefully it'll be posted in the next few days. it's really late and my brain isn't working BUT just wanna say thanks again for reading this. it truly means a lot. it's been a blast going on this journey with you all
> 
> also GOOD ON YOU GUYS for cracking the code. i saw some people's theories about brian and i was so proud :,)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.... am dead inside. in the best way.

Today, so far, has been very busy.

We left around six to head to the airport. We dropped Lucy off at Jackie’s house – they got on pretty well last week and Jackie said she’d be more than happy to watch her while we were out of town. I’m going to miss her, really. We’re only gone for three days, but… still.

I’m battling through several distinct layers of anxiety about today. I’m always dealing with that, I guess. But today, we’re leaving Lucy with someone else, we’re getting on a plane… and we’re meeting my parents again. Jesus. Any of those would have been panic-inducing on their own, and yet – I’m doing okay, so far. Probably because Ryan’s here. Certainly, in fact.

A benefit to Ryan being here is that he’s wearing sweatpants in public. That’s something to focus on. We’re both wearing those sort of slouchy airport clothes. It makes us look like we’re celebrities in disguise. A bit fun. Ryan wanted me to be comfortable – I told him I didn’t want to make a bad impression. So we also packed some ‘presentable’ clothes to change into when we get to Chicago. It’s _very_ fun – like we’re playing out a spy movie.

We’re not. We’re just going to my parents’ house. That’s the mission. We’re no James Bond.

It’s not news to you, I imagine, to hear that I haven’t gotten on a plane in a long time. But Ryan’s being a saint, so. My disaster traits are manageable when Ryan takes my hand and leads me through this.

I was thousands of feet in the air earlier today, so my brain’s murky on the details of the past few hours. I remember the whole TSA process being incredibly terrifying. No one is _happy_ to be working early in the morning so they weren’t _smiling_ , but my brain somehow convinced me that everyone knew what I used to do. They don’t, of course. But it _feels_ like they do. I just want everyone to like me all the time. It’s very debilitating.

I remember airport breakfast – Ryan spilling hot sauce on his pants and getting grumpier than he was already which was hilarious. I remember Ryan pushing me into the aisle of the plane, giving me the window seat for reasons unexplained. I remember him sleeping on my shoulder. I was too nervous to sleep, watching the clouds appear and disappear through the window like they’re attached to God's treadmill.

I’m standing by the bathrooms in the O’Hare airport, leaning against the wall as Ryan changes into his parent-meeting clothes. I got to go first because I whined about it, so it’s Ryan’s turn. As people pass me, I can’t help but stare. People… do this? All the time? They get on planes for fun? Okay. Weird.

It has taken a lot of restraint to keep my mind off of what’s about to happen. Well, maybe not a _lot_ of restraint – I’ve focused on literally every other part of this trip other than the proceedings of the night.

What… what am I going to _say,_ you know? What the fuck do I have to offer to my parents? My _parents_. What do people talk about with their parents? What do they… what do they even say? Holy shit.

I feel Ryan’s hand on my arm, cold against my skin. “Hey.”

Oh, I’m panicking. That’s what’s happening.

“Hey – “ I attempt to say, though it’s somewhat stuttered and not right.

“Deep breaths, Shane, hey,” he places his hand on my back, pushing his water bottle toward my mouth. “What’s goin’ on in your head, right now?”

I take the bottle from him, managing to drink a bit and take a few gasping breaths. I was bound to panic in an airport today – I just expected for it to be a panic _about_ the airport. About the things I’m experiencing _now._ I’ve never panicked about talking to people before. I mean, except for Ryan. But that’s… different. Right?

“Shane,” Ryan says again, very patiently. I can hear the announcement speaker blip on, a voice telling people where to go. I can’t focus on what the voice is saying. There are so many voices right now. Fuck. “Baby, _breathe._ In and out. Do you need me to model?”

I shake my head slowly, trying to conjure up some words in my head. Something like: _Hey, I’m sorry I’m being difficult, I wish I wasn’t this way. I’m just going through a lot of firsts right now. I’m thankful that you’re here to help me with this, and I know it’s frustrating to have to help with this. I’ve never been happier with you in my life – you make me strive to be a better person every day. I love you._

Instead, I look up at the ceiling and sigh out a breath before dropping my head to meet Ryan’s eyes. I take a sip of water before finally saying, “How do people talk to their parents?”

Ryan laughs. He tries to hide it behind his hand but he fails. I feel myself smile and huff out a laugh of my own. My eyes are returning to normal, my chest feeling less like a balloon blown to its limit. Back to normal. Nearly.

“You’ll do great,” Ryan says.

“How many times have you met your girlfriends’ parents?” I ask, bending to pick up my bag. Ryan has his hand on my back, still, making sure I don’t keel over. Sweet of him.

Ryan shrugs, scanning over my face as I return upright. Looking for some reason why I’m asking. “Don’t know. I haven’t in a while. Last time was in college, I bet.”

I hum. I wait for him to extend his suitcase handle so that we can start walking. “Right. Well, I’ll raise you this. How many times have you met your girlfriends’ parents at the same time that they were meeting their parents?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re not _meeting_ them, you’re… reconnecting. Completely different.”

“Ryan, I don’t even know what to say to them.” I like the sound of suitcase wheels clicking over an airport floor. That’s not relevant. Just something to notice. “I’ve been doing absolutely nothing with my life so far. I work at a coffee shop and I – “ I don’t say it. Ryan gets it.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve done something now. You’ve done plenty of things.” He looks like he’s about to start listing things when we step out into the open. I’m glad he doesn’t. He shields his eyes from the light. “It’ll be okay. We’re gonna, uh, rent a car and – and we can talk about things to do and say on the way, alright?”

“Yeah,” I say. My heartbeat won’t go back to normal, but the rest of me is fine. My heart loves to betray me. “Thanks.”

I’m not allowed to drive for a while. The results of last week’s x-ray showed no broken bones, just a bunch of… uh, contusions. Blegh. I don’t want anything that sounds like that to be on my body. Anyway, I can’t operate heavy machinery for a couple of weeks. Ryan’s been my chauffeur, the sweet guy. He hasn’t even complained once.

I watch him make the transaction – wow. How people can just float through life like this, shake hands and spend money and get things _done_ like that, it’s a mystery to me. Does he ever panic? I know he stresses and that gets to him but what about panic? I guess not everyone has panic attacks every day. Huh.

“New car smell,” Ryan sighs as he settles in the seat. He runs his hands over the leather of the wheel. “Man. What a dream.”

“Just get a new car,” I tell him. “Yours is falling apart, you know.”

Ryan scoffs as if he hasn’t been thinking about it. He reaches over to turn the heat on. What a California boy. “Noooo. I couldn’t.”

“You could,” I turn my head to look at him. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “You know. One with a working window.”

I receive a full-on glare for that one. I guess I deserve it.

Wow. I remember these things. Weird. I rest my forehead against the glass, watching everything move. Not a lot has changed, really. Some store logos have been updated since I was last here, but that was to be expected. Radio Shack went out of business. Oh, it’s the post office!

“I had a big crush on this girl who worked at that post office,” I say, pressing my fingertip against the window. Ryan makes a noise of acknowledgment, flicking the turn signal on. “She was, like, ten years older than me.”

“How old were you?” He sounds a bit concerned.

“Twenty, probably.” I wince. Ugh. It’s been a long time. “Nineteen? Somewhere around there.”

“That’s not that bad,” he offers. “You ever had a crush on a teacher?”

“Oh, for sure.” Several times. I have no regrets. “There was a whole thing in college.“

“ _College,_ ” Ryan shakes his head. “I was talking about high school, but. Hey. Whatever floats your boat.”

“My boat’s floating alright,” I say, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. “So, your high school teacher – “

“I didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“You brought it up.” I shrug. This is a good distraction from everything, truly. It’s moments like these where it feels like we get to go back to the normal stuff. We get to do the normal date stuff – go on a road trip, joke about old crushes – all the stuff we bypassed because I’m a literal monster.

“I mean…” Ryan slows to a stop at the light, taking a hand off the wheel to adjust the mirror. “That was the first time I consciously saw a guy as _hot._ Back in high school.”

“Welcome to the club.” I lean forward, pressing the button on the glove compartment. It falls open. I was hoping for something more exciting than a handbook, but it’s a rental. What could I have been expecting? “What was so hot about him, anyway?”

“Why are we still talking about this?” He asks, though his smile cuts any suspicion that he might be actually mad. “I was just trying to make you feel better about your weird mail crush or whatever.”

“Yeah but now we’re talking about _your_ male crush.”

“Shane.” We start moving again.

“Hm,” I pull the handbook into my lap as if I plan to read it, closing the compartment with my knee. “Maybe I could use some notes, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Notes?” He gives me a look for a moment. “On what?”

“Y’know.” If his old teacher was _hot_ or whatever, maybe I could try to be that. Or something.

Ryan doesn’t seem to know what _y’know_ means for a moment. He just drives. I expect this to be the conversation’s end, that we’ll just silently sit in the car for the next fifteen minutes. His eyebrows are low on his nose, considering something for a long time. Then his eyes go wide, and he says, “Wait, what?”

“What?” Let’s just move on. There goes the preschool I went to.

“Notes on _you..._?” He seems disgusted by that, which I take as a… compliment? Right?

I run my fingers along the front of the paper book in my lap. “Well. Yeah, I mean – uh.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. I wait for notes. They’re very important. “It’s – his name was Mr. Miller, which was… eh, it’s bland. And he just – he sort of dressed like you, actually. If his clothes were cooler, and… stuff.”

I make a face, “And, what, he was tall and weird?”

“… kinda.”

Well, there ya have it, folks. “So, I’m your Mr. Miller, then.”

“No. Jesus. No.” Ryan shakes his head, face all scrunched up in a very cute way. “No, you’re, like… Mr. Miller wishes he could be you, is what I’m saying. My standards were low back then, you’re… a thousand times hotter than him, so.”

“Oh, I’m hot?” I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Ryan rubs his left eye. Nervous? Is he nervous? “E-especially when you’re wearing that tie, you know? The one you wore when you were trying to be professional?”

I cough. “Ryan. Am I hearing that you have a thing for teachers?”

“No. I have a thing for _you._ ” He runs a hand through his hair, “That’s it. No more Mr. Miller.”

“Mhm,” I say, turning my face back to the window. “That’s highly suspect."

Ryan’s phone rings in the cup holder beside me and he seems glad for the distraction.

“Will you check who that is?” He turns his head just barely toward me, “See if it’s worth answering.”

That’s a big responsibility. I pick it up, looking at it. “It’s an unknown number.”

“Ugh, alright.” Ryan says. “Answer and, uh, hold it to my ear please.”

“What?”

“Just – “ He glances at me in that imploring way.

“Fine, okay.” He’s so weird about me hearing his work calls. Whatever.

I press the green button, turning it around and cautiously holding it against the side of Ryan’s head. It’s hilarious. This somehow seems more dangerous than if he were to answer the phone with his own hand. But hey, it’s cute and I love him.

“Hello?” Ryan says. He hums in acknowledgment, then listening for several minutes.

His little smile seems to fade over time which doesn’t make me feel great. I’m trying to prepare my _it’s fine_ speech when he tells me he has to go back to California to deal with something. I hope that isn’t it. It won’t be easy going through an airport by myself, though I’m sure I can do it. I’m an adult, I just… it’s hard when I’m away from Ryan to see a real purpose to anything. That’s probably not healthy.

Eventually, the faint voice on the phone fades and Ryan says, “Alright. Thanks. I’ll let him know.”

I take in a breath through my nose. Fuck. I wait until Ryan nods to me so that I can let my arm fall. The person on the other line hangs up first, so I gently drop Ryan’s phone back into the cupholder.

Ryan sighs quietly, adjusting his grip on the wheel. I suddenly can’t remember what I had planned to say. How am I supposed to act like a normal person around my family without Ryan? He’s the normal part of me.

“Um,” I begin, “It’s okay, you know. You can just drop me off at the house, say hi or something. Since Mom probably wants to meet you.” I turn back toward my window as we pass my old elementary school. “And then, like, you can go do what you need. We can call every night, you can hang with Lucy, and then I’ll come back in a few days. It's not a big deal.”

I can hear my voice waver so I blindly reach for Ryan’s water bottle. Instead of the cold metal that I anticipate, I feel Ryan’s warm hand in mine. I look at him. His face is all scrunched up, still facing the road because he’s a responsible driver.

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh?” I shift to face him again, “The call. You have to go back home for work. I was just saying, it’ll be okay. You just have to say hi to Mom first or she’ll never let me hear the end of it, probably.”

“Shane, what are you – I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes my fingers. Now _my_ face is all scrunchy. “Where did you get that idea? I wouldn’t just _leave_ you here. I told everyone I’d be out of town.”

I stutter for a moment. Oh. “Oh. I thought – I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Those were your lab results, that’s all.” He rubs his thumb across the inside of my wrist before retrieving his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. So why did he sigh like that? Was it bad? I mean, he’s not crying. That’s gotta count for something. “That bad?”

He shakes his head. I think we’re getting close to the house. I’m not ready. “It’s okay. You’re not dying, which is good.”

“Low bar.”

Ryan clears his throat, “There’s – ugh. Apparently, there were traces of Klonopin on the cup and a bit in your bloodstream.”

I think I should be… upset? Afraid, maybe? I don’t know – I’m mostly confused. This seems to be a trend. I don't tend to focus on the right things.

 _Klonopin?_ Of all things they could have used? “Klonopin?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t really understand the function of that. He seemed to have been giving it to you for a long time, but still. It’s a long-acting benzo, not something you’d use to poison someone.”

I hum. “Brian said something about having anxiety, I think. Too anxious for coffee. Maybe he was just grabbing shit out of his medicine cabinet.”

“Must have calmed you down or something. He gave it to you long enough for you to build a tolerance, I think you were going through some sort of withdrawal…? But you didn’t show any true symptoms, just... fatigue. You were just – “ He makes a funny noise, like a tiny explosion, “ – out.”

“He didn’t give me coffee for that long, I don’t think I was going through something drastic.” I consider that. “Maybe he didn’t give me enough.” I don’t think that’s how this works. I don’t know how this works. Why am I offering theories when I know nothing?

“You are certainly taller than him.”

“I’m _much_ taller than him.” I feel the need to clarify.

“Hm,” Ryan bites his lip. “I’m still so sorry, Shane – “

Oh, not this again. “Not this again, Ryan.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see what a creep that guy was. I mean, that’s my _job_ ,” he shakes his head, shifting his hands on the wheel. “God. He was always so pleased to see you. Fuck.”

“Hey,” I shake my head, holding my hand out to grab his. I realize he’s driving last second and reroute my hand to land on his head. For some reason. He laughs. “Everyone’s pleased to see me. I’m a charming guy.”

“You _are_ a charming guy,” he concedes, which I’m thankful for. I take a deep breath in when I see the gates outside of my childhood neighborhood. Holy shit. “Ooh, Shane! You lived in a gated community?”

“Mom was always terrified of home invasions,” I mutter, sinking down in my seat.

“Jesus. She must have been terrified when she heard what happened,” Ryan clicks his tongue. He pulls up to the little keypad outside of the gate, punching in the code Mom gave him on the phone before we left California.

I remember this now. God. What a trip, huh. I remember thinking this old rickety gate was indestructible, like a forcefield around this creepy suburb. Looking at it now, I could bend that thing with my bare hands. I guess a lot has happened since I was last here. A lot. I guess I also thought I wouldn’t be able to strangle a person to death, but hey! Things change. We adapt.

I hear a voice come through the speaker to say: _“Hello, there! Who are you here to see?”_

“The Madej family, please!”

_“Gotcha.”_

The box buzzes and the gates squeak as they swing open. Like, I could punt those things into the atmosphere if I truly wanted to. They wobble for a few seconds after they stop and Ryan starts to pull in.

“Breathe, Shane,” Ryan says quietly.

I almost laugh at his cautious tone but I don’t, because I’m having trouble breathing. Ryan takes me through the in-out procedure as we drive up the hill. There’s the Hamptons’ house. Their kid was mean to me when I was little. I wonder how he’s doing. Probably better than me, morality wise. I mean… maybe.

I get my breathing together by the time we’re in the driveway. I’m surprised that Mom’s not standing on the porch, waiting. I bet she’s waiting behind the door. That’s what I do. I can’t imagine that habit just turned up out of nowhere.

“Okay,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“I think so?” My leg is bouncing up and down. I press a hand on my knee to stop it. “Can you go first, I’ll get the bags?”

“Shane. C’mon, it’s alright. We’ll go together.” He takes my hand and kisses it, which instantly makes me feel a whole lot better. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Okay.” I think I’ve picked this habit up from Ryan. “Okay.”

“We’ll get the bags,” he says softly, “We’ll go and knock. They’ve missed you so much, Shane, they’re going to be so pleased to see you.”

“I just…” I push my door open, “I guess…” I don’t continue the sentence until we’re behind the car, pulling our bags out as slowly as possible. I find my words, then. “What if she _knows_ , Ryan?”

“Knows what?” Ryan is focusing on pulling his heavy suitcase down onto the concrete. He looks up at me. I see the realization pull at his face. “Oh. Shane, she couldn’t possibly know.”

“But she’s a mother! That’s what they do. I mean, when I was little, I broke a vase and hid it and she just _knew_ it was me,” I shudder. “It could have been Scott, he’s rowdier than me. She didn’t even ask him if he did it, she just knew.”

“That was a vase,” Ryan offers, closing the trunk. “And I would like to add that _I_ couldn’t even figure you out, and I was looking for you everywhere.”

“Mmh.” I guess he’s right there. I don’t know. I check my hands again for any last traces of blood. Mine or otherwise. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” he says. He leans up on his toes to kiss my cheek. “Let’s go. Got your stuff?”

“Yeah.” Shaky breath. “Yep.”

The porch is just as creaky as I remember it being, though they seem to have stained the wood stairs leading up to it a bit darker. It looks better, that’s for sure. Even though I definitely haven’t grown height-wise in the past ten years, everything looks smaller. That doesn’t help too much, but I’m not having a panic attack right now. That’s surprising. Maybe I exhausted myself at the airport.

I feel Ryan’s hand in mine. “Go for it.”

Okay. Alright, I can do this. Of all the things I’ve done, of all the things I’m capable of… I can knock on a fucking door. I can do that much.

So I do. I raise my hand and knock twice, hard, knowing full well that the doorbell was broken when I left and has not been fixed since. I hear her voice from inside, _coming!_ , and the breath gets knocked out of my chest. It’s happening. It’s happening.

The door opens. And that’s… my mom. Oh, boy.

She looks exactly the same. I don’t know what I expected, really. I guess, since _I’m_ so drastically different, I thought everything else had changed. But, nope! I swear, her hair is curled in the exact same way I remember it being when I left for college. Maybe she’s already evolved to completion or something. Like a Pokémon. Poké _mom_. Ha.

Mom seems like she wants to say something, but instead, she just walks forward. I almost cower. She hooks one arm around me, one arm around Ryan, and pulls us into a hug. I almost fall over, confused, but Ryan is unfazed and I copy him.

“Oh,” she says. I hear her kiss Ryan’s cheek and then mine. Wow. What was I so nervous about, again? What was I panicking about? “Welcome! Look at you!” She leans back, scanning over the both of us. “My goodness.”

I open my mouth to say, “Hi.” It falls flat and odd, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s looking back at Ryan, saying something about how handsome he is. I couldn’t agree more.

I’m trying to focus on too many things at once. I can’t hear what anyone’s saying, I just follow Ryan inside, gripping the handles of my bags. Mom is pointing into the living room, I follow where she’s pointing. All the furniture is new. I guess that’s what happens when time passes.

I finally tune back in when she pats my shoulder and says, “I’ll take these.”

I watch helplessly as she takes the bags from my hands. I say, “No, I can just – “

“Give,” she says instead, taking them and starting up the stairs. She has Ryan’s as well. I glance over at him to ask when that happened but Ryan just shakes his head.

“I tried,” he shrugs, now paying full attention to me. He's wearing a cautious smile. “Where were you, just now? Were you asleep in there?” He taps the side of my head.

“A bit,” I say, an exhale. “It’s super different in here. Looked the same outside.”

“That’s kinda how houses work, Shane,” Ryan pats my shoulder. I try another glance around. “You okay? Are you breathing?”

I take a deep breath for proof. “I think so. Just takin’ it all in, I guess. Uh.” I take a few steps forward, checking in the kitchen. It’s empty in there as well. “Wonder where everyone else is, though. I remember Dad would barely leave the kitchen on the weekends.”

“He’s in the city, right now,” Mom says, walking down the stairs. She’s smiling at me before I know it, coming in for another hug. I’m more present for it, this time. “And Scott’s driving down from Wisconsin.”

“Scott’s living in _Wisconsin?_ ” This is news to me. _Wisconsin._ “Really?”

“No, he was visiting some friends up there,” she shakes her head like she disapproves. “They should both be home by dinnertime. That’ll give you some peace and quiet before the house turns into a circus.”

I nod once. That sounds good. “Alright, well, what’s – “

Every word I had planned goes out the window as soon as I see the little white creature creep out from the laundry room. I feel myself abandon the people standing there, waiting for the rest of my sentence, and cross the threshold.

Cat. That’s a cat. A very sweet, cute, little cat. When did they get a _cat_?

“Who’s this?” I ask, lifting the cat into my arms. I cradle her (him? them?) like a baby, turning to my mother.

“Oh, that’s Meg.” Mom smiles, her hands on her hips. I totally called it. “We got her about a year ago, she was just a kitten then.”

“You’ve fed her well, that’s for certain.” She nuzzles against my shirt and I almost pass out. “Wow. She’s sweet.”

Ryan hums and moves to stand beside me. He’s hesitant to pet her, but she stretches her paws above her head and he instantly gets the courage to. “Is she… trained?” He looks up at me, “Can you even train cats?”

I shrug. I’ve never met a cat who enjoyed getting a belly rub, but here we are. She reminds me of Lucy a bit. Just a smaller version. I miss Lucy so much.

“Completely untrained, just a little sweetie.” She beams, “I meant to ask, do either of you boys need anything to drink? Anything to eat? I know that plane ride can be rather long.”

“I’m alright,” I say, bouncing a bit like Meg’s an actual human baby. I’d love a cat. Ryan shakes his head as well, still honed in on the cat I’m holding. “Thank you. Sorry, I’m… I’m a bit all over the place.”

“Nothing changes,” Mom says. I look at her, almost surprised. “I’m glad to have you home, Shane, if only for a few days.”

“Glad to be back,” I hear myself say. Meg starts to mewl and I concede, bending to let her down. “I’m surprised she didn’t claw my face off.”

“She has yet to do that to anyone.”

I hum, watching her pad into the kitchen. She’s like a little ghost. Ryan waves to her as she goes which is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Mom ushers us to sit in the living room, telling us to make ourselves comfortable. This is a feat made easy by Ryan’s presence, taking my hand and holding it between his palms. She brings us water despite a lack of us asking (which is very Mom).

“Do you have any pets?” She asks, eventually, after a moment. I can hear Meg’s paws padding on the floor a room away. “You always wanted one of the more normal ones, but your father was a bird man.”

“I do! A dog!” I’m glad she asked. I haven’t really had the opportunity to do the thing people do when they show pictures of their pets for way too long. Here we go. I open the photo album (full to the brim) designated for pictures of Lucy. It’s been a nightmare trying to keep myself from posting these all to Facebook in one fell swoop. But what’s the point? “Her name’s Lucy. She’s two.”

Mom makes a quiet _ohhh_ sound, taking my phone in that mom way – two hands, holding it like an artifact of some sort. I glance at Ryan. He gives me a thumbs up.

I don’t really know when the awkwardness goes, it just does. One moment, I’m sitting absolutely still on the couch, watching Mom scroll through my photos of Lucy, completely terrified that I’ll move too much and do something wrong. And then… I’m helping Mom set up a Netflix account. I’m at the dining room table, she’s pointing at the screen over my shoulder with her reading glasses on. Ryan’s holding a cup of coffee, walking around the various rooms of the house and looking at all of the pictures of Scott and I on the walls. I’d kill to see some pictures of a baby Ryan.

“Do you want me to make a separate account for you and Dad, or – “

“No, no, don’t be silly.” She waves a hand at nothing in particular. “What he watches, I watch, we’re not complicated.”

“Alright,” I shrug, scribbling the email and password on a sticky note that I place on the laptop. Right under the keyboard. “There ya go. All ready for your binging needs.”

She watches me close out of everything. I lift the laptop, holding it out to her, but she just waves her hand again. “Oh, just leave it. Leave it, I’ll move it later.”

“Oh, okay.” I set it back down, it clatters a bit when it hits the table. I pull my coffee mug toward me by the handle, it scrapes against the wood. I remember her telling me to leave a lot of things around. Plates and clothes, just everywhere. _Oh, just leave it._ I think she just wanted me to make more messes. But messes don’t feel nice to leave around.

I almost jump out of my skin when she pats my shoulder. I look at her. She’s smiling at me. “It’s so good to have you back in the house.”

“It’s good to be back,” I say, and I mean it. I do. It’s been far too long. I nearly forgot all of this. I was tied up in my adult messes. It’s been a while since I’ve been told to _oh, just leave it._ “Really.”

Mom opens her mouth to say something.

I hear the front door open, a gentle storm of noise that stops immediately. I hear one voice say, “Now, who’s this!” Another, “Oh, you must be…!”

Ryan’s voice replies, “Yes! Wow, uh – nice to meet you, I’m Ryan, I’m – “

Mom stands, grabbing my hand and tugging me to stand. “Finally. C’mon, c’mon. Your father’s been talking about this for a week!”

“O-oh, right, uh.” She drags me through the kitchen, calling, “Took you long enough, boys!”

“We had to stop for some groceries,” Dad says just before we turn the corner. He says, “I’d shake your hand, Ryan, if I had one free!”

Ryan laughs at that, glancing over at Mom and I as we come into view.

“Now would you _look_ at _this_!” That’s Scott. I smile, probably somewhat timidly, and wave. He immediately drops the two giant bags he’s carrying. He steps over them, grabbing me by the shoulders before giving me one of those _brother_ hugs. The old ones, tight and almost concerning. It takes a moment for me to realize that I’m in one, wrapping my arms around him and doing that weird slap to the back with my palm. “God, look at you!” He pulls back to scan over my face. His eyes drift upwards. “Get a load of that _hair_ , man. Holy hell.”

“Hey,” I say, because it’s all I can manage. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, no,” Dad says before Scott can even respond. He shakes his head, a handless equivalent of Mom’s wave. It’s a Midwestern language, polite dismissiveness. “We’ll get all of this put away and greet you properly.”

“Oh, come on,” I hear myself say. I take one of the bags that Scott lifts into his arms again, grunting at the weight I hadn’t anticipated. “I’ve gotta help at least a little bit.”

Dad shakes his head again but smiles and nods toward the kitchen, _well, let’s go then._ So we do. Mom holds her hands up as we pass. Ryan laughs a bit as Scott nudges my back with his now free hand, telling me to _move it, slowpoke, there’s ice cream in these bags!_ I laugh as I place the bag down on the counter. I catch a glimpse of Ryan grinning at me from the hallway.

It doesn’t take but a minute to put all of the groceries away, especially with everyone in the house helping. Mom keeps Ryan from helping _too_ much though. Since he’s the guest.

Mom refills our mugs before sending us into the living room. Ryan sits on the couch, pressed up against the right armrest. I move to sit next to him but Scott falls into that place before I can even try.

“Oh,” says Ryan, glancing over at Scott. He smiles, awkwardly but still somewhat confident. “Hey there.”

“Methinks you took my spot,” I say, a hand on my hip and one wrapped around my mug.

“Methinks you’re mistaken.” He waggles his eyebrows at me and wraps an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. He turns to Ryan, “I’ll tell you some secrets about Shane, if you want.”

I scoff, “I’m right here!” Unbelievable. 

“I’d… _love_ to hear some Shane secrets,” Ryan says, taking a sip of coffee before leaning over to set his mug on the coaster that Mom keeps on the coffee table. “But first…”

I’m looking around for the next closest seat to Ryan when I feel a hand in mine. I don’t know how I manage to keep all my coffee in my mug when he pulls me into his lap, but I do. I make a noise in the back of my throat, probably a whine of sorts, until I’m fully grounded. I grunt a little, my torso still pretty fucked, so Ryan mutters an apology.

“What?” I hear myself say, looking at him, gripping my mug with two hands.

He doesn’t answer, looking to Scott, “So, about these secrets.”

Scott laughs and says nothing more. In fact, no one says _anything_ about this. We just talk about things. They laugh, mostly at my past self’s expense, but they laugh nonetheless.

Ryan pokes my side every now and then to get me to hand him his coffee, but that’s the majority of our reference to our seating situation. It’s interesting. I mean, I’m not surprised that they’ve been so nice about this whole boyfriend thing. I told them I was (and I'll quote) "bi or whatever" before I went to college and they’re saints, they’ve always been supportive. It’s just – you know, when your kid brings their significant other over, it’s not ideal that they be all over each other. I don’t know.

I remember when Scott brought his girlfriend over before prom and they were making out every time Mom would leave the room. Holy shit, I totally forgot. That was one of the worst nights of my life. At least Ryan and I haven’t kissed since we’ve been here. So, we’re probably already in her good books regarding partner introductions.

“How’d you two meet again?” Dad asks, face scrunched up as though he’s disgusted he’s waited so long to ask.

Ryan shifts. He looks at me. “You wanna, or should I?”

I shake my head, shifting to wrap my arm around his shoulders. “All yours.”

“Well,” Ryan says, and I can see his eyes glimmering as if he’s been waiting to tell this story forever, “Shane moved in down the street about nine, ten months ago. He’d walk his dog, Lucy, in the morning – “

“Dog?” Scott says, prompting me to pull up the photo album. He takes my phone into his hands, just like Mom did. “Ohhhhh.”

“ – and his route always passed my house.” Ryan reaches a mug-warmed hand up to take mine, the one I have resting on his shoulder.

“Lucy likes his mailbox,” I offer.

“So do all the other dogs. It’s a real hotspot,” he says. It sounds sort of familiar. He laughs a bit, locking his arms around my waist. “I don’t know. One day I got the courage to say hi, and the rest is history.”

That’s a good way to put it. I nod once. That seems like a logical end to the conversation, right? We did the whole meeting story, pretty much. Sure, we left out some details, but –

Mom looks like she’s lost in thought. She says, “Ryan’s a detective.”

I say “yes” at the same time Scott says _“what?!”_

“So what do _you_ do?” She seems hesitant to even ask. It is weird, I guess. It’s like we’re scrambling to reacquaint ourselves.

“Oh, nothing. Really. I just – I’m a barista,” I shrug. Ryan’s arms grow tighter around my waist. “That hasn’t changed much. I guess I’m just a makin’ drinks kinda guy.”

“It’s a quality way to make a living,” says my Dad, a real advocate for the worth of those working in the food service industry.

I nod and smile, feeling a bit ridiculous making eye contact with anyone in my family while sitting on Ryan’s lap. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Sorry, can we go back to the fact that Ryan’s a detective? Hold on.” Scott holds a hand up as if he’s directing an orchestra. He turns to face Ryan, whose face is a nice shade of pink, “A detective.”

“That’s me.”

“I thought we told you that,” Mom says, reaching over to pat Dad’s leg in that _we’re married_ way. “When we told you about Shane being on the news after that terrible home invasion.”

Scott’s face goes blank. He slowly turns to face Mom. “Shane… was in a _home invasion_?”

“Oh, dear,” Mom says. She glances at Dad, “I could have sworn we told him.”

“I think you must have told the mailman,” Dad replies.

Scott sinks into the couch cushions, “No one tells me fucking _anything._ ”

“Scott. Andrew. Madej.” My parents say this in unison. It’s very funny but I know not to laugh. “Language.”

“I feel like I deserved that one!” He springs back to normal posture, looking at me with wide eyes, “Home invasion?!”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that bad,” I offer because, frankly, this is pretty awkward.

Ryan seems to disagree with my statement, though, because he shifts me around so that I meet his eyes, “Shane.”

“What? I’m fine!” Ryan shifts under me and I groan at the jolt of unexpected pain. This dampens my point immediately.

“I’ll tell you,” Ryan says, toward the rest of the room, “I’ve been working for the department for almost ten years now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt genuine panic like I did when I heard him on the phone. He was so... so _calm_ , and he was making it so clear that he was in danger... I don't know how he did it. I was in shambles.”

So he _does_ panic. Just once. For me. That’s somewhat comforting.

Mom says something like, “On... on the phone?”

Ryan visibly perks up, realizing that he gets to tell another story about me, “Oh, right. So – “

So begins the story. The story of last week, of Scary Andrew and Nervous Brian and Dumb Me. Ryan starts from the beginning, from my sleepiness at the office – he seems to be recounting this story very differently than I remember. We talked about this many times in the past week, though, so maybe my brain's mistaken. I never brought it up, but Ryan was hell-bent on making sure I didn’t repress anything. And I haven’t had to. Ryan’s got a knack for knowing how to validate me when I'm not even sure I need validation.

I think, in the past few days, the scariness of the entire situation has set in for me. But it's okay, Ryan's here.

Ryan spins a hell of a tale, though. I don’t remember them kicking my ribs in, that’s – oh, wait. Yeah. My body hurts. Maybe he’s telling the truth. My bad. Disregard.

Scott is grasping my forearm, wearing an expression I could only describe as _mortified concern_. I don’t know when that happened. I guess I’m zoning in and out of this story. Ryan’s making it seem like I’m the good guy in all of this. I don’t know how I feel about that, really. I’m the original bad guy. I’m the reason they even did this.

“I mean, I would have been completely _useless_ in that situation,” Ryan says, shaking his head. Mom and Dad and Scott mimic the movement. Everyone's looking at me with wide eyes. I feel very, uh, _perceived_ right now. “And he did everything right in a situation where… almost nothing can possibly be right. You know?”

“Damn,” Scott says, raising a hand to my head to ruffle my hair. My headband slips in the way of my eyes but I push it back. He doesn't touch my wound up there, so it's fine. “Seems like you got the ultimate Californian experience, then.”

“Lucky me,” I say over the lip of my mug. I’d like to stop talking about me, now, since it’s gone on for terribly long. “What do _you_ do, Scotty?”

“Ehhhh,” he says, not a fan of this new thread of conversation, “Freelance production, you know, for lame local businesses – let’s go back to the time you almost _died_ maybe.”

“Ryan already said everything,” I say. Not everything. How funny would it be if I just told them right now? Like _hey, by the way, the guys who nearly murdered me in my home were just trying to follow the steps of a serial killer that just happened to also be me._ Not very funny, right? I’m not gonna actually do it, but… it’s just something to think about. I look to Mom, “You need help with dinner?”

She nods, standing, “I was about to get it started anyway.”

I stand as well, almost sad to leave Ryan’s arms yet too afraid to stay for fear of more conversation revolving around me.

“Awwww,” Scott says, throwing his arms up, “C’mon, when have _you_ ever helped with dinner?”

I stick my tongue out as I pass, following Mom toward the kitchen. She starts pulling all of the ingredients out and, as soon as I see them all laid out like this, I realize what she’s making. I used to love the lasagna she made, and here we are again. This was the sneaky way she’d get me to eat vegetables, sneakin’ ‘em into the lasagna. I’m going to eat until I pass out. I always do.

Ryan sneaks into the room, holding my coffee out to me. I take it, confused.

“Needed an excuse to follow you,” he says, grinning. My heart melts. He sips on his coffee before setting it on the dining room table that sits in the center of the tiled floor. He says to Mom, “What all can I help with?”

“Oh, no, no,” she says, crossing the room and pushing him down into a chair by his shoulders. “He who is the guest is he who gets the rest.”

“That’s… charming,” Ryan says, “But – “

“Shh,” Mom wags a finger before tugging me over to the sink by my sleeve. “Cut the carrots, will you?”

“Yes, chef.” I roll up my sleeves and wash my hands, glancing over my shoulder. “You need anything, Ryan?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” he says, hooking his arm over the back of the wooden chair. It creaks as he shifts. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I mutter, realizing how odd that response is. As if we’re coworkers or strangers. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting. I tend to do that.

After a few minutes of idle talking and chopping various things that Mom places on the cutting board, I hear the television cut on. Dad and Scott probably got tired of small talk and decided to watch the game. That’s how it goes. The noise of a football game really puts this whole picture together – being in the kitchen, being in this house, being in Chicago, tied in the bow of quiet, metallic applause and occasional yelling from Dad.

At some point, I hear Scott yell, “There’s nothing _on_ right now!” Probably during a commercial break that’s dragging on too long for his liking.

“So, watch the news!” Mom calls back, not batting an eye. Like she reads from this script every day or so.

“Fine,” is muttered distantly. A beat. Then, “Shane, you’re on CBS!”

That’s weird. Huh. I turn to say something to Mom, but she’s already booking it to the living room. I turn to look at Ryan, who’s on his phone trying to find some proof. He does, holding the screen up.

“They’re calling you a hero,” Ryan says quietly, raising his eyebrows. I squint at the screen from where I'm standing. That's me, alright. A screencap from the live stream, the one where I waved to Mom. It's sort of sweet, I guess. I don't know about _hero_ , though. 

“That’s… not… right?” I say, even quieter. I wipe my hands off on the towel next to me, leaning on the counter to face him. “CBS? Really?”

“Yep,” Ryan scrolls through the article, scanning. “It’s funny. I don’t think they gave any details about the situation – they just saw the video of you waving to camera, looking a bit worse for wear, and… uh, ran with it.”

“Oh,” I say. This doesn’t feel right. Why am I getting positive attention for this?

I hear Scott yell, “Oh, and you’re on David Muir!”

“Jesus,” I whisper. I don’t mean to say it, but I do. “That’s… that can’t be right, right?”

“Seems that it is,” Ryan says, standing. He holds his mug close, “You should probably go see. It’s your TV debut.”

My eyes travel to the entrance to the kitchen, as if someone’s there. “I don’t like talking about myself this much, Ryan. This isn’t…”

Ryan stands closer, slipping a hand into mine. “I know, I know – I’m sure tomorrow will be less trauma-centric, they just… you know, they missed you and something pretty big happened recently. They just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. I reach for my own coffee, needing something to do. I take a long sip. Ryan’s thumb rubs circles into the back of my hand. It’s surreal, having him here. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

He clears his throat. “You ready?”

Meg pads into the kitchen, mewling at us as if to say _hurry it up, guys, you’re missing it._ I trust her. I set my mug down, bending down to pick her up again. She lets me.

As I stand here, looking down at Ryan, I'm realizing that we're done a lot of things for each other. Uh. Ryan’s done many more things for _me_ , that’s the fact of the matter, but… maybe I’m on my way to do more? You know? Like, we crossed the bridge, we burned it, and I think we’re moving forward, now, to do normal things. To be domestic without too many interruptions. We’ll get back into our rhythms, Ryan will move in, I’ll figure out how to manage my time to give Lucy all the attention she needs. I think I can shift my goals from keeping all my secrets to… I don’t know, making memories. Memories I won’t have to repress and hide and keep in shoeboxes. Memories I could frame on a wall.

“Can we get a cat?” I ask, cradling Meg in the crescent of one arm while petting her head with the other. “Like, when we get home? Not immediately, but… soon.”

“Of course, Shane,” he shakes his head at me, wearing this smile that makes me feel incredibly warm. “Yeah.”

I nod once. This is all the confidence I need to take the step forward that propels me to walk into the living room. Ryan’s right beside me, hand on my back. He seems to like doing that a lot. I don't mind it. 

Oh. One more thing.

Before I go, I wanted to thank you for hearing me. For letting me cry in front of you all those times. You were there when I met Ryan, when I almost died – twice. You watched me take those initial Facebook pictures – Jesus, I’m sorry, by the way. What a waste of time.

You were there when I didn’t let anyone else come close. I guess I didn’t have much choice, huh? I don’t know where I’d be without you and Ryan.

It must have been quite the burden, having to be around me like this. Before Ryan found out, I must have put a lot of shit on your shoulders. Gave you all my secrets to keep, since they were getting too heavy for me to bear. That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry.

If it helps, I think I’m okay. You can go, now. I can do this by myself. I've officially moved on. This is just the beginning of that. You can... uh, go. I made it.

Uh. Keep in touch, though. Somehow. I don’t know how this works, really. I guess – you know my number, so. Make sure to call every now and then.

I’m terrible at goodbyes. You know this, though, so… uh. End transmission, or whatever.

I love you. I’ll see you around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I... cannot tell you... how long I've wanted to end a fic like that.)
> 
> Well. We finally made it, guys. Nearly 100k words later, we made it to the end. I'm so sorry it took this long to write this chapter. My brain was just not cooperating. I think maybe I didn't want to part with it. Who knows. 
> 
> I wanna say: I'm glad I gave myself more room to finish this. It's safe to say, I've never put this much effort and planning and work into a fic before - I'm more than pleased with what I ended up with... hopefully, I'm still happy with it in a few months. I hope I can keep this momentum as we move forward! I have a few one-shot ideas planned out... I also posted a one-shot recently that I'm pretty proud of if you like angst AND fluff wrapped into one! 
> 
> Thank you to the consistent commenters for fueling me to continue when I was completely crestfallen and deleting thousands of words that would no longer work - I wrote literally twenty thousand words while creating the ending (last chapter), starting over two whole times. Thank you to those who were telling me how suspicious Tony and Brian were - even though I knew I'd written them that way, it hadn't occurred to me to connect them. (Hence the two different endings I had planned.... ugh. They were so bad, guys. Trust me.)
> 
> It's been a blast going on this journey with you. Thank you for your time. I'll see you around.


End file.
